Monday, May 02, 2005
Cognitive Dissociation: the Academic's Best Friend
First of all, this is not my fault. Oh, no. This is the fault of all those people who asked me, "So what do you want to be when you grow up?"
(Especially the ones who gently disillusioned me when I said, "A kitty!" You bastards can rot in hell.)
Your brain takes "What do you want to be?" and slowly processes it through years of schooling and wedgies and underage drinking, until suddenly you're a legal adult. Then you wake up one morning surrounded by empty vodka bottles and unmatched socks, and you realize, "Shit, I don't have a career."
See, your brain has betrayed you. It's processed the input from all those people who told you you couldn't grow up to be a kitty and told you that it's not enough to just have a job. A wonderful, beautiful, meaningless string of jobs that you take, use, and release like a series of sorority girls. No, you've got to be something. You've got to have a career.
"Shit," you say to yourself. "I'm not ready to choose a career. What if I choose the wrong one? I better go back to school."
And this is where the stupid starts. "As long as I'm in school," says your brain, "I'm not an adult." Perhaps you further this illusion by wearing the same clothing you wore in high school, even past the point where the faded dates on them begin to disturb those around you. "As long as I'm in school," says your brain, "I'm avoiding picking a career." Whereas really what you're doing, the longer you stay in school, is becoming so specialized in something that you're unfit for anything else.
On some level, you know this. A tiny voice tells you. But you drown it out because now that you're over 21 and still in school, why, every year is like senior year! The future is open and the beer is legal!
Your brain just introduced itself as the son of a deposed Nigerian dictator wanting to cut you in on the deal of a lifetime, and you bought it, baby.
Oh, well. At least I still fit into my high school yearbook T-shirt.
(Especially the ones who gently disillusioned me when I said, "A kitty!" You bastards can rot in hell.)
Your brain takes "What do you want to be?" and slowly processes it through years of schooling and wedgies and underage drinking, until suddenly you're a legal adult. Then you wake up one morning surrounded by empty vodka bottles and unmatched socks, and you realize, "Shit, I don't have a career."
See, your brain has betrayed you. It's processed the input from all those people who told you you couldn't grow up to be a kitty and told you that it's not enough to just have a job. A wonderful, beautiful, meaningless string of jobs that you take, use, and release like a series of sorority girls. No, you've got to be something. You've got to have a career.
"Shit," you say to yourself. "I'm not ready to choose a career. What if I choose the wrong one? I better go back to school."
And this is where the stupid starts. "As long as I'm in school," says your brain, "I'm not an adult." Perhaps you further this illusion by wearing the same clothing you wore in high school, even past the point where the faded dates on them begin to disturb those around you. "As long as I'm in school," says your brain, "I'm avoiding picking a career." Whereas really what you're doing, the longer you stay in school, is becoming so specialized in something that you're unfit for anything else.
On some level, you know this. A tiny voice tells you. But you drown it out because now that you're over 21 and still in school, why, every year is like senior year! The future is open and the beer is legal!
Your brain just introduced itself as the son of a deposed Nigerian dictator wanting to cut you in on the deal of a lifetime, and you bought it, baby.
Oh, well. At least I still fit into my high school yearbook T-shirt.
# posted by FriendlyInstructor @ 4:30 PM 
