An Exercise in Futility

Five days. In five days I will be a college student who studies and shares a bathroom and eats in a cafeteria and socializes. Coco, Twin and Brother are already living that life. So with not much to do besides pack and sleep, what do I do for fun?

I go on a date, of course. Five days before I leave the nest and the state not to return until Christmas, I go on a first date. Doesn’t that make complete sense? While we’re at it, let’s go ahead and pile on the fact that the guy, Ugly Duckling*, actually seems like a good guy, though some of my friends disagree, and I don’t do long-distance relationships. Now is it clear why I did it? If its clear to you, could you explain it to me? Please and thank-you.

Any trained psychiatrist would probably say I agreed to the date because, with so little time left to develop the relationship, I wouldn’t have to worry about actually getting to know the man (more so, I wouldn’t have to worry about Ugly Duckling actually getting to know me). That could be it. Or it could be that an old issue of Cosmo told me that I will reap great rewards for putting myself out there more. Or it could be because I recently got the advice (from a wise, old sage) that I should never turn down a free meal or a free drink. Or maybe, I’ve realized that my favorite type of exercise is an exercise in futility. Whatever the reason for this date, it was lovely, in no way awkward or intimidating, but still too little too late to make me reconsider my stringless approach to college. But no harm was done so I’m going to try not to analyze my actions too much.

*Ugly Duckling-someone I've known for quite a while who previously was a fat, belligerent drunk with long hair and no real future, who has now, in the span of about a year, lost a lot of weight, cut his hair, calmed down, lessened his drinking and started taking school seriously. I don't mean to be shallow about his appearance, but now he takes pride in it, whereas before he couldn't have cared less.