The Ides say “Daylight Savings Time” and the rain says it’s almost spring. (The crocuses’ tiny heads are poking out of flowerboxes, but we’re trying not to jinx it by noticing.) We’re on month seven; Boston is more than halfway over. Halfway through March is two weeks to April is how quickly things have been going lately. Wasn’t Valentine’s Day just, like, last week?

My job is stupid but I’ve been doing a lot of it; I’ve written three or four partial essays for this blog but have concentrated instead on not going crazy in the long Northeast winter. This involves a lot of painting and it involves a lot of drinking: neither of these things being particularly conducive to writing essays, you understand.

February is always the worst month, so I appreciate that it is also the shortest.


I hope you appreciated the survey I just filled out for you. It probably wasn’t actually very helpful, but I wanted you to get the opinion of the people who otherwise might not fill out your stupid survey — i.e., the people who don’t give a shit about your stupid survey.

I loved my college. I met some of my best friends there; I had a great time; I learned a lot about myself, about history, and about how to juggle substance abuse with attending class, doing homework, and going to work — and I’d like to think I was quite good at it.

However, what my college experience did not teach me was how to get a decent job in the real world, or any skills pertaining to acquiring such a ‘decent job’. No, it taught me how to be a hoity-toity white-tower academic. I’m not complaining; had I my druthers I’d be in graduate school right now, writing papers, reading books and turning up my elegantly-formed nostrils at ‘pop history’.

But I’ve lost my druthers. Druthers are gone. I have no druthers.

I’m working at a fucking convenience store. Three nights a week. As I mentioned in your survey, when you asked me for money. Fuck you, I am absolutely not giving you any money. I can’t even make my own rent. I can’t even come close to making rent if you factor in the fact that my life is more or less a cold brackish misery bath and I drink myself to sleep at night because otherwise I’d keep myself up coughing (from smoking so many cigarettes).*

I had a great time while I attended your beautiful campus, alma mater. Don’t get me wrong. It was probably the best place for me to go to school; my professors were fantastic; the people were great and the parties were epic. But I didn’t give a shit about any of your alumni association/service project/sports/magazine/SCHOOL SPIRIT while I went there — why do you think I care now? I didn’t even go to my own convocation senior year. (Also, this is an aside, but make your fucking website more difficult to navigate why don’t you. I just spent five minutes trying to figure out what the word for that thing I didn’t go to was.)

Alma mater, stop sending me things. I’m not going to volunteer, I’m not going to give you money, and I’m not going to any of your alumni events — all of my fucking friends are alumni, I don’t particularly feel the need to hang out with the ones I’m not friends with. So I guess what I’m getting at is, eat a plate of dicks, alumni association, and stop sending me things.

With regards, fond memories, and bitterness,



*this is a slight exaggeration.