And the answer to life’s important questions is . . . 1/2

See, I used to be smart.

I’m a pack rat — to the point of it being something of a pathology, I would say. Thus, I have boxes filled with things like pieces of rope, toy musical instruments, wigs, broken glass, the insides of broken computer and stereo equipment, doll parts, door knobs, a bag filled with pairs of eye glasses . . . (Stuff to some day make “art” with — or so I tell myself.) And thus I also have things like my “Applied Calculus” text book from freshman year of college, along with all my notes, etc. — which I came across once again today while packing shit up and throwing shit away.

I’ve been pretty brutal this time around — even threw away all the old notebooks filled with my writing. (Some day I need to move into the 20th century and actually TYPE shit, instead of writing everything in notebooks first.) Granted, the average person would still look at the box of “garbage” and the box of “stuff to keep even if I have to pay to keep it in storage” and not be able to tell the difference.

But.

At any rate, it’s hard to believe that these hieroglyphics actually made sense to me at one time. (I even got an “A” in the bloody class.) It’s sort of nostalgic, I suppose — and also made me wonder if I should have read through all those old notebooks . . . What if the stuff I wrote 5 or 10 years ago is actually better than anything I write now, or in the future?

My ACT scores were good. My GRE scores were utter shite. By an objective measure, I actually become STUPIDER in college. (Case in point: is “stupider” a word? — No, I kid, I’m aware that it’s not. My brain might be rapidly decaying, but I’m still an English major.)

Actually, maybe all this REALLY suggests to me is that high schools should perhaps place less emphasis on math and more emphasis on, gee, I don’t know . . . ANYTHING ELSE? Art, Theater, Creative Writing, Psychology, Philosophy, Critical Thinking, Music, . . . . . . .

Anyway, I’m not sure what the point of this is.

So, good evening, and thank you for watching.

(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn’t I.)