it’s become ennis to my jack…without the tent scene

We’ve all been there: a relationship you just can’t drop. Even after you’ve decided to drop it. Even after you’ve told people you’ve decided to drop it. You come back again and again, insisting that this’ll be the last time. The final time. The final last time. THE FINAL FINAL LAST TIME!

But for whatever reason, you can’t do it. You just…can’t.

Having decided to drop the class I signed up for, having reasoned it out carefully and having agreed with my own decision, I can’t get myself to actually make the break. I’ve logged into the course-management system maybe a dozen times this week, intent on dropping the course…but my resolve weakens once I get to the final step, like an addict in front of the waste-can, gear in hand.(1)

I wish I knew how to quit you.

I’m unclear as to why this is. There are reasons, yes, but they feel like small reasons even when I say them aloud. Nothing that seems strong enough to commit myself to a semester of literary theory and criticism. Of research. Of being tired, exhausted. Of writing essays. Of not having time.

Of, well, of taking it up the ass.

Sigh.

But I know myself well enough to know I follow my instincts even when I don’t know why I’m following them. My hesitancy to execute the necessary click of the mouse(2) may not have a reason, but it has a purpose. As hooky and New-Agey as that sounds, it’s the truth.

So, I’ll guess I’ll be cramming once again. As in the studying-sense, not the…well, you know.


  1. Not that I’m addicted to grad school. The first taste was good, but not that good.
  2. That’s all it’d take. Just one click. But my finger just lies there, flaccid like Jack Nicholson without Viagra.
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