The Collegiate Sexual Apocalypse

A friend of mine recently admitted to doing what almost every college student considers at one point or another, screwing in the library. I wasn't particularly shocked by the confession, I've actually HEARD people getting freaky on the third floor and the person in question was also just the kind of person who could actually pull off having sex in the library, but it left my wheels turning. I have to admit that I've never really understood the appeal of sex in public places, and to a sick sick biblophile like me, the act of nooky in those hallowed halls almost seems sacrilegeous. There's this little newspaper that comes out at my school, the "alternative" to the big school paper, that described the library around midterms as a "place where learning, drug-use, misery, and sexual tension... all intermingle." I'm of the mind that this could accurately describe almost all of UVM, but considering that that brick-shaped, brick-made building is essentially a microcosm of the school itself it's not surprising. But back to the interesting part.

Why DO people want to boink in bookville? Is is just the taboo? Some collegiate rite of passage that somehow combines academics and sexual recreation? Is it true, as my friend Sophia so often asserts, that "Finals make you horny"? (Please note that ALMOST EVERYTHING produces that effect in Soph.) For most it's probably one third taboo and one third tension relief and one third "sticking it to the man." (pun intentional) 

It also helps that college students are also in an interesting point of their life in general and that this time lends itself to all sorts of odd behaviour. It's a time of discovery, a time that you kind of figure yourself out a little, and apparently it's also time when you knoodle with people just because you're both reading Karl Marx. (Also not me, maybe Jung might do it though.) One of my professors, David Huddle (google him, dude's a bomb writer) referred to our generations way of hooking up as Instamace, and it's fairly accurate. We're an almost completely media driven generation, we want our email in our hand, our entire music library in our back pocket and we want a double mocha skim no whipped cream TO GO NOW DAMMNIT. It makes sense that we would expect the same of our relationships, even the purely sexual ones. I feel like the word isn't even exactly pertaining to the speed at which these relationships develop, though that is often part of it. It's the fact that that there is this TERROR of traversing the fantasy. Of getting to know the real person behind the  "I'm the free spirited political science major" or "I'm the stoner math dude" or  "I'm the cynical english major with a blog."(GUESS WHO THE LAST ONE IS)  I don't feel like this is a new revelation by any means but I feel as though since we're essentially the "igeneration" its effects are a little more dramatic. 

Like Hipsters, there's a primo example. An entire group of people who essentially culture vulture the rest of the art community and then turn those elements into completely vacuous, vapid crap. 

So I suppose that the Symbolic Collegiate Sexual Apocalypse would be two hipsters screwing in the library as some jaded form of protest.

Which is fine as long as I don't have to watch.

And then I get to kill them.

And eat them.

Beating The War Drums

You can't help the things you feel, as I'm finding out, but you can help how you react to these emotions. I'm learning slowly how I tend to do what's easier for me than what's best for the people that I care about. My general agnst is mostly the result of my own habit of erring on the side of melodrama and the public declaration of self truth rather than any sort of tangible issue within my own life. For year I had a reoccuring dream that my teeth were loose and I would spend the duration of the dream attempting to keep them in. Closing my mouth and reminding myself not to touch them with my teeth. Right before I left for university, 300 miles to the north of where I grew up and on the other side of the planet socially. I had the dream again, sick of the re-occuring dream I finally ripped the teeth out of my head. They were brown and rotten and they had clotted blood and pus on them It wasn't appealing. Staring at my gruesome teeth I woke up. I never had that dream again.
Now I have nightmares at night that my mouth is stuck open and I can't close it.

Maybe I talk too much.

Maybe this is an example, but then again this is a blog and I have nothing to write about but what I know within myself.

I took a nap yesterday and had a horrible nightmare, I thought I was screaming in my sleep. Aes, my 800 miles away lover of just about forever, said I shouldn't let it effect me. I wish I could be like him, logical, straight foward, intelligent in the most measurable way. I am not that way, emotional, overly expressive... I used to suffer from depression and anxiety , the kind that makes you crazy, now I deal with it. It doesn't mean it's gone, it doesn't mean I'm crazy. It means I have to take care of myself, and I do. It's tempting isn't it? My depression generally makes me artistically prolific and I find it easier to work well in the creative arena. It's just not something I can succomb to. Not if I want to live.


***

during a conversation in class about the war in Iraq

"You guys keep blaming the media but it's US who demand that CNN give us information on Anna Nicole Smith and Tickle-Me-Elmo rather than The War. I hate to seem like I have no faith in the over-riding goodness of humanity, but I'm going to be honest, I don't think we would. What we're getting is what we're demanding."