End of Line

It’s been a strange season. 

That in and of itself wouldn’t be enough to compel me to write, but this blog’s been stagnant for a while and, to quote Tree Trunks from “Adventure Time,” “Thass no good!”

So yeah, it would’ve been awesome to spend my break in Miami, or Pasadena, but as it stands, there’s no way to turn back the clock and figure it out all over again. The past is the past, and the only thing we can do now is not fuck up the future.

And now it’s that time of year again—when band is over and I have to figure out what to do with this newly-opened free time, with my Friday nights, with the people that I’ve gotten to know as my family.

Yesterday, as my friends Catherine, Tammy, and I were getting ready to leave the band office, one of the freshmen lept onto me in a hug and exclaimed, “What am I going to do now that band is over?”, and it was like she’d stabbed me in the heart with a blade of emotion, and I had to stop myself from bursting into tears in order to reassure her that she would, as everybody in the organization would, be a-o-kay.

It sounds cheesy, and yeah, this football season was objectively a rough time, what with all the time commitments and the physical exhaustion of being in full uniform when the SoCal sun’s out and the close quarters semi-nudity and the bleary-eyed Saturday morning wakeups and the utter anguish watching this team, with all of its talent and all of its folly, fall again and again

but every game, every afternoon or morning gathering with this strange motley gang of a section, with this strange motley gang of a band, even when I’m tight-lipped with exhaustion and moodiness or screaming hoarsely because my voice is gone, yet again, and

I lost my train of thought. Shit. Fuck. FUCK.

Whatever. To use an oft-quoted Tumblr saying, “SO MANY FEELS.” Just, looking back at all of the random moments, like when everyone in Squad IKEA said “Butts” into the band mics and Chase flipped his hair and everyone was overwhelmed and the sophomores got over the utter shitshow that was Arizona by getting drunk for 8 hours straight on Party Bus as we drove through that arid wasteland of a state and Matt Damon continued fighting the good fight and btw GUESS WHO HIS GIRLFRIEND IS and, throwing it back, Ambrose staplegunned a Cheez It box into Serge’s kitchen wall and oh shit, remember when Patrick went on the mic for a thousand years and no one minded because it was awesome.

Most of you won’t know what the shit I’m talking about. That’s okay. It’s impossible to explain anything, really, but this is my blog so I’ll be damned if I don’t try.

“I wish there was like… immigration, but with payment.”
“You mean slavery?!”

This wasn’t a good year? This was a great year. This was a fucking fantastic year. Because even when the world isn’t all right, we’re having a better time than you are. And we know that we’ll be back in this fun and fury, in the national conversation, in the heart (and balls?) of every college football fan come September.

And for now, I’ll savor my newly-reclaimed Saturday morning sleep, and dream of

(Image: 15 bondage (4) by Alessandro Ruggieri, via je suis perdu)

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