The point of this note is also somewhat useless being a generally short waffle about the disheartening prospect of starting school again. Thirteen (even the number has negative connotations) weeks of waking up before the kookaburras do, planning out lists of things to study and not accomplishing even half of it, instead watching a romantic comedy that I have probably already seen numerous times and really just wishing the concept of osmosis would apply to school... If I sleep on my textbooks (lots of knowledge)...it should just transfer into my mind (little knowledge). It’s simple.
Anyway, this evening I decided that I shall drop out of university or ‘grad school’ and instead embark on a career of jam-making, even though I don’t like jam that much.
Goodbye physical therapy, goodbye lectures, goodbye another 2 years of academic distress, I am throwing it away in exchange for mountains of sugar and slightly rotten fruit.
I shall open a shop with one large window. There will be no kitsch stripy awnings over the window, nor any bright and welcoming flowers, and yes, the dark purple paint around that one window may be peeling a little. The only thing in this shop that is sickly sweet, will be my jam.
It will have walls covered with old wooden bookcases, groaning under the weight of my many and delicious varieties of jam. There will be no orderly system either, people will have to search for the jam they want, but search they will, because everybody will want to eat it so very much.
There will be a gramophone in one corner, none of the country music nonsense though, and I shall play 90s songs, and people will like it. I myself will sit at a desk and smile inanely at the hordes of customers, whilst writing novels or painting, for I shall pretend that my livelihood is based in words and color, rather than sugar. But we all know that really, the jam will be the foundation of my fortune.
I will have a bicycle, with a basket on the front, and I shall deliver my jam to those incapable of reaching the shop. Occasionally I may ride over a bump, and then my jam will go flying through the air, and smash on the road, but I will ride through those puddles of jam, leaving glistening trails behind me, as if I were a particularly sugary and wheeled snail...
Why I delude myself that I am going to be a student for another 2 years, or god forbid, a physical therapist, I don't know. One thing's for sure though, and that is that I will make some damn good jam sometime soon...and maybe eat it with peanut butter.