Young Writers Society

25. computer science

(super busy week, haven't had time to upload stuff)

it took me about a month or two
of sitting in computer science classes
(specifically, the point where
we stopped going over
the basic concepts
and started working on functions
and printing more than
a couple "hello, world!"'s)
to realize computer science isn't
finding those ten lines of code
that magically process
your huge database
and give you all the statistics
and searches and queries you want -
it's more like you're a little goblin
running around in a massive palace
with a bucket of spackle
so you can throw it at cracks
in the pillars and walls that other people made,
smear and shape that spackle until
it covers up the holes enough
that you don't hear wind whistling
or see water pouring through them,
and hope nothing comes crashing down
on top of you, because this palace
stretches away as far as your eyes can see,
and everyone else is trying
to cover up holes in other facades,
and nobody's going to notice
if you get crushed
trying to solve a little problem
in the space that millions, billions of people
have carved out and are carving
out of zeroes and ones.

26. I can do better

the worst part about reading a terrible story
is sometimes the author stumbles on a concept
that I'm interested in, like a question
I didn't think to ask before (something
about power or identity or society), or a situation
where the characters are flailing their arms
and struggling in ways they haven't before,
or the plot's coming together or falling apart
in a way that I didn't see coming, and all in all
it would almost be compelling if I could squint
and ignore the author and themes and characters
and plot and setting and basically everything
because unfortunately a broken clock
is still right twice a day, up until it isn't
and the author covers that diamond in dirt,
but hey, maybe I can dig it up myself,
polish it a bit, make something nice
(especially if I buried it in the first place,
because it's nice to look back at something
I worked on years ago and think, I can do better.)

27. it can snow in may here

opening the door and
walking out onto the porch and
feeling the cold concrete
scraping my bare feet and
hugging myself because I'm
wearing pajamas and I'm
seeing the snowflakes
dusting the grass,
coating the tables,
dripping down the sidewalk, and I'm
breathing out fog,
saying goodbye to winter,
hoping that's the last of it,
knowing it probably isn't

28. a lot of people I know have dopplegangers I guess

either I'm exhausted
or a terrible friend,
but I know so many people
I know so little about -
I forget if they're in a relationship
or not, their hobbies and passions,
what we were talking about
last time, the projects
they're anxious about,
when they're graduating
(I'm a senior so part of me
thinks everyone else is a senior
because I've run into them
a few times the last couple years,
and frankly I wish me and my friends
could all graduate at the same time
because I'm afraid to walk on that stage alone
and other than my parents
I'll just see a crowd of faces
blankly staring back),
even what major they're in,
and sometimes I barely even remember
their names, or I'll glance over a few times
at someone standing next to me
in the coffee shop in the library
afraid to say anything because
sometimes everyone looks the same to me
and even if I see the right smile
and clothes and hair and all that,
maybe I'll end up talking to the wrong person
and make an ass out of myself,
and what I end up doing instead
is wait for other people to walk up
and say hello, give me the scoop
about their lives again, and I'll pretend
I remembered it all from the get-go
(and that works more often
than it really should)

29. after the party

bass pounding against my ears
lights blurring in my eyes
alcohol in their breaths
and I'm squeezing past them
talking about their lives
and the jobs they're looking into
and the grad schools
they've heard back from
while I'm
bumping into corners
hiding in the corner
popping out long enough
to say hi to someone I know
nod my head and say yes
or no or maybe or
that's a shame or
good luck or congrats,
and this almost sounds like
it could be a party,
but it's actually
drunk literature nerds
reading poems,
talking about how
the fourty-hour work week
would be nice actually,
and one by one
saying goodbye to each other,
finding ways to keep in touch,
and planning out what we'll do
if we stay around.

and I open the door
and hear the wind whistle past me
and I look up at the sky
black and starless
and the streets empty
and around them tall lamps
whose light is scattered
by the leaves on the trees
that I walk past
as I go home
alone

30. what am I even doing with my life

(yay)

all my friends have jobs
because all their friends have jobs,
and I've been in classrooms,
hallways, restaurants, back seats of cars
talking with people about where they're going,
what they're looking forward to,
how much they're getting paid,
who they knew who talked to their bosses
and dragged someone else out of this school
and its expensive apartments and Ds on exams
and the professors who keep their doors closed
and sleepless nights and panic attack days
and everything that's done to us,
from bloodshot eyes to shaky legs
to memorizing where all the bathroom stalls are
and how quietly we can cry in them
before anyone notices and asks what's wrong
(we don't have time for that conversation).

when my parents visit they ask me
what companies I'm looking at,
if I have any offers already,
if I'm willing to leave the state.
what I tell them is I don't have time,
and that's sort of true -
between all the exams and projects
and quizzes and reports
and club responsibilities
and research and lab work,
I barely sleep anymore,
and I'm barely keeping up
with all of it
until I remember
who I forgot to email
or when that assignment was due
and surprise, I wasn't keeping up,
but, on another level,
I'm pretty sure I'll just
crawl out of my skin
if I have to dress up in a suit
and shake some interviewer's hand
and explain my whole life story
like it's anything impressive
or exciting or cool,
like I can bring anything to the table
other than anxiety and the hope
that I'll remember where everything is
and what I'm supposed to be doing
in a couple months or so.

not to rip on myself here -
I'm happy with everything I've been doing
(still kind of torn
on whether or not I've done too much
or I haven't done enough,
because I keep finding out
about clubs and organizations
I've never been a part of
but I would've loved to, like,
pick up trash along the creek
or learn how to grill
or make glass vases or swords
because this is a nerd school
full of nerds, and I fit in
more than I ever have anywhere else,
which isn't always a good thing),
and I'd like to think
that I've gone from
a completely dysfunctional adult
to a sort-of functional adult
if I squint for long enough,
which is what everyone around me
is going through,
but I don't want to deal with
all of the bluffing and putting on faces
so I pretend to be a cool, confident, capable person,
when I'm mostly quiet, nervous,
exhausted because I keep
poking at the edges
of what I can do,
and god sometimes I wish
I could get an apartment,
turn it into a sad little hoarder cave,
and hope all the stuff
blocking the door is enough
to keep me away from everyone else,
because I'm so tired
of bluffing my way through conversations
because being honest about how scared I am
would be even harder to say,
especially if I end up scaring them too.

I'm happy with who I am
(or, more happy than I used to be, at least),
but I guess I'm afraid
that it's not enough,
that I'm not enough,
and maybe I could stay in my parents' house
for a few months this summer, just take a break
where I get ten hours of sleep every night
and I'm free to crash on the bed
in my hoodie and wrapped up in blankets
and stare up at the ceiling fan
and the popcorn ceiling
I can almost make shapes out of
for the other fourteen hours
until I get this school out of my system
and I can finally unwind,
but who knows if I can do that at all -
my dad sat me down
before I went to college
and told me all my dreams
weren't financially sound
and I needed to give up on them
(which is rich coming from a man
who has no friends, spent fifty years
making a hobby out of money,
and, if I had to guess,
keeps telling himself
he'll wait until he retires
before he does anything
because he has no idea
what he wants to do for fun),
and my parents only ever tell me
that it's alright I'm a chemist
because everyone's retiring
and the job market will be opening up soon,
and my parents watch over my shoulders
like vultures, waiting for me to stumble
on the road between their house
and my own hypothetical house or apartment,
somehow never asking themselves
if their weight on my shoulders
might be one of the reasons
I sway and trip and fall over
and cry on the dirt for a little while.

mom and dad, bad news - I'm a walking anxiety disorder,
I have a family history of everything,
I've never done my taxes before,
I've lived in a frat house for the last three years
(which is funny as hell because
I'm the last person who would ever join a frat,
it just so happens to be the nerd frat
that everyone else also pratfalled into),
basic social etiquette confuses me,
basic tool use also confuses me,
I could probably fail the turing test if I'm tired enough,
I can barely cook my own food or do my own laundry,
and my little room is already a sad little hoarder cave -
I'm going to fail, I'm going to fail hard, I'm going to fail a lot.
and there's nothing wrong with that, you know?
maybe once I settle into the structure
of a 9-to-5 job, I can build everything else around it,
and I'm already used to conflicting deadlines
and sending a million emails every day
and finding time to do laundry or run to the store
and a few of those adult things,
so maybe I'll get this whole life thing figured out.
it's just going to take time and patience,
because I'll be screwing it up at every opportunity
because I'm easily scared and kind of a coward
and I'm an awful judge of just about everything,
but I don't want to carry my parents' fears
when I already have my own, thank you very much.

mom and dad, let me do my thing - you can't tell me
what's a good or a bad idea until I do it myself,
and by that I mean advice
can only do so much in the face of experience,
and I still have a lot of things I need to experience,
so maybe just get off my shoulders,
watch me walk for a while,
and ask me if I need help when I stumble,
but get over it if I tell you I don't need help,
because that's my call to make,
and ultimately I wish I was a person to you
and not just your kid on the brink of failure
begging for you to save me from myself.

I'm me, I'm happy being me, and you're going to have to deal with it.