There comes a time in the life of every young person when they realise that they have accomplished nothing that they had set out to at school. As a teenager, I was fuelled by a mixture of fervent pubescent determination, ambition and hurriedly eaten Pop Tarts. I assumed by my early twenties, I would have met my future wife, or at least I would be having regular intercourse with women of varying ethnic backgrounds and religions. I assumed I would have had my name in some kind of print which wasn’t followed by the words “has been fined £40 for urinating in public,” and I foolishly assumed I would have completed university and got myself a job as some kind of writer/bounty hunter hybrid. This hasn’t been the case.
What was that deadline again?
At school, I had bold and beautiful dreams. I assumed I would leave, go to Art School, paint some incredibly surreal pictures of vicious sea beasts tearing at the hulls of Viking longboats, and then fuck my way through an ocean of pretentious hipster chicks with tattoos of Edgar Allan Poe quotes adorning their inner thigh. All this would be done, of course, whilst experimenting on a mind altering cocktail of drugs, expensive wine, gin and pomegranate molasses. It was going to be awesome.
Sadly, this did not happen. I decided to abandon the dream of going to Art School in favour of studying English, Psychology and Creative Writing. Now, I would leave school, write some incredibly surreal stories about vicious sea beasts tearing at the hulls of Viking Longboats, and then fuck my way through an ocean of pretentious hipster chicks with tattoos of Edgar Allan Poe quotes adorning their inner thighs. Quoth the raven…’Wid.’
Different Raven.
This did happen. Except all the parts about women, Longboats, sea beasts etc. They didn’t happen. Instead what happened was I coasted through the first year, eating lunch by myself (the 'Sad Keanu' Meme is based on me, FYI), wandering aimlessly around HMV for hours per day, and falling in love with everyone I saw, based purely on how woolly their hat was. After some time, I made a few acquaintances. One was a small vegan lesbian with terrible dental hygiene and annoyingly exaggerated opinions. Another was an incredibly skinny busker with gargantuan man tits and a facial tick which looked like he was trying to see what his forehead tasted like. Another was a giant man from Luxembourg who liked The Mars Volta and spoke in this kind of low, monotonous drone that I constantly feared would awaken The Kthulu. There was an Irish guy with a tiny head like the cursed guy from Beetlejuice, and an incredibly creepy young man who strutted around the campus wearing a three piece suit like a paedophile Mr Benn, complete with umbrella and briefcase. And then me. Pubescent Meatloaf.
Bless my soul. I really love that Rock'n'Roll.
I began spending more and more time with this group of people, who read like the misfit cast of the worlds worst comic book. My thoughts soon began to wander towards leaving university. At the time, I was working as a waiter and getting shit faced every night, which only further fuelled my desire to leave because I found the whole thing ridiculously fun. I never drank underage, so it was all new and exciting to me. This culminated on the night of my 19th birthday when, dressed as Jesus Christ Himself at a Halloween party, I got incredibly drunk, vomited everywhere and told my dad I hated my life and needed to change. Now, you may think otherwise, but there really is nothing more dignified than a young man in regurgitated Jack Daniels covered robes, crying into his hands and irrationally belittling lesbians and the Irish to his bewildered and perpetually pissed off father. Nothing at all. Soon after this event, I left university, and began working/drinking full time.
I was the first person in my family ever to attend university, so naturally, my decision to leave was met with hostility. I am also the tallest person in my family, so naturally that too is met with hostility. I am also the most laid back member of my family, which, you guessed it, is met with hostility. To this day, my family view me as just some tall, relaxed cunt who let them all down. And I view them from my not particularly lofty heights as a menagerie of pissed off dwarves. So fuck it.
Christmas at the Tiny Stewart Household traditionally culminates in Basketball games.
Now, 4 years after leaving, I am have begun to wonder why I ever left. I have accomplished nothing. Whilst I have watched my friends and ex-colleagues gain degrees and knowledge and well paid jobs, I have stagnated, slowly moving from mundane job to mundane job. The Quarterlife Crisis is very real, depending on your character. If you are, for example, the kind of person who is successful, outgoing and more than likely, a bit of a cunt, you will likely bypass this phase of your life, and continue on your quest of having painfully awkward sexual encounters with luminescent orange girls until you settle down. However, when you reach 45 years of age, that’s when the tawny breasted Bastard Eagle of Life will shit on you. You will be sitting in your office, in your expensive leather chair, your reflection shining back at you from the finely polished veneer of your desk and you will snap. You will go online and buy a motorcycle, divorce your wife, flee from your children and live a life of desolate solitude in a small flat somewhere in Cumbernauld, listening to Flo Rida, the soundtrack of your youth, and weeping uncontrollably over the glory days. But this is what you wanted, isn’t it? You selfish cunt.
"We don't need any woman, do we Scarlett?"
If, however, you are the unsuccessful, introverted, frustrated creative type, then have no fear. At least you have the decency of getting your shit out the way whilst you are young and relatively responsibility free. You may snap now, you might buy a motorcycle, dump your partner and go off the rails. You might go on a continuous bender and wake up completely naked, covered in leaves and dirt and various other pieces of detritus. You might accidentally flash some children on a guys weekend away*. Who knows. The point is, you are still young. You can be fucking awful at life right now and get away with it because you still have time to rectify it. So run, you little shit, go off and get drunk and quit your job in your early twenties so that you can pursue the ancient art of smoking cannabis, melting cheese, and writing a sitcom that will never see the light of day. Nobody gives a solitary fuck. Enjoy that shit whilst you can.
*Sorry kids.
Wonderful.
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