Does anyone really care?

Last semester, I wrote an article for the Opinion section involving a line drawing of a cat that was meant to be cut out of the paper and colored. It was up to the audience to be the artist that time, instead of me. This week, I was given the task of writing another article for the In The Office column. I know the Op/Ed editor was probably scared as hell about what I was going to submit, especially since I didn’t write this article by the time I said I would. He probably paced around the office a couple times, curious and anxious to see what I would bring him.

Even as I write this, I still don’t know what I will end up talking about for the next few text columns. I will probably begin with one topic and end on one completely anomalous to that. Let’s take that word—anomaly, what does it mean? Obviously, the dictionary will say something along the lines of: 1. A deviation from the common rule, type, arrangement, or form

2. An odd, peculiar, or strange condition, situation, quality, etc.

Okay. Now that we have that definition out of the way, I’d like to give an example of an anomaly in my life; the door to my room. The only door in the house that creaks. One may ask, "Ian, why don’t you WD-40 that creaky-ass door? It must get annoying to you and your roommates, it would make me cringe!" Because I just don’t care that it creaks; like my left knee, I just learn to deal with it. That would be another example of an anomaly…I’m the only one who isn’t annoyed by it.

Things that should make people cringe more than a creaky door includes rubbing two marbles together, sliding a piece of paper across your eyeball, bedbugs, the feeling you get when you stub your toe and you don’t want to look because you think the toenail ripped off and Justin Bieber.

Now, onto a couple things that piss me off. Why does Oswego not have any metered parking? There are some days where I only need to be on campus for half an hour but because my meetings or tasks are conveniently before 3 p.m., I can’t park in any of the closest employee lots.

Also, I’m tired of almost getting hit by speeding cars when I’m walking through the Culkin Hall parking lot. Two ideas came to mind to deter death at Culkin: speed bumps and getting rid of that ridiculous circular, bushy garden. What the hell is that thing? It’s ugly and pointless, and when I walk around it, the car that almost hit me from the edge of the sidewalk apparently forgot I was walking. Because they forgot, and were going about 35 mph around that space, I was able to practice my masterful, car-dodging skills.

Sometimes, when I am writing, I go through what I consider the equivalent of an awkward silence. Most writers call that writer’s block…but to me it’s an awkward silence because I just don’t know what to say next. I haven’t found an appropriate spot to stop talking and just leave. Usually in a verbal conversation, when I anticipate an awkwasil (as I sometimes call it, I just shortened the two words…I know it sounds like an over-the-counter creme), I just walk away without saying anything just like I plan on doing with this article. I’m ending it without a clean conclusion. It confuses people, and may even offend some, but in the end nobody really cares.

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