honored we are, beauties of troy

If I have to lay eyes on another hot person again, I’m going to off myself. Troy’s golden children make me want to be an amalgamation of extremes, a monstrosity of polarity until I am the most beautiful, most wise golden body of pure youth and stamina. It has instead succeeded in making me feel like the other end of the pole, a Grendel tearing through the mass of perfection, and yet my delicate ego and sweaty sensibilities are held together by my innate sense of narcissism that hasn’t failed me yet. 

Nothing academic has happened, all of this coming simply from three days in an honors dorm filled with golden children that are now unleashed upon the world with a slap on the ass and whispered sweet nothings that we something. The best of our homes, the pride of our towns, in one place. Beautiful people finding beautiful people is just nature, but this has to be some kind of artificial selection breeding experiment. And I am among them? I will truly be something by the end of this all. I had begun to think that I’d found myself, that I was confident. Now, I am hesitantly confident and loudly agog at this sea of extremes before me, spread out over a few floors. And to think, we haven’t even begun to learn yet. Potential is terrifying to look at when it’s not only within you, when it’s all around you in flaming torrents of supposed peers. And yet if you asked me if I belong here, at the moment I think I would say yes. Agog does not mean in disbelief, it means my mouth is agape when looking at the cast of my next four years and not knowing how a single one of us is going to end up, including me. I have chosen the right path, but the sheer luxury and challenge of it is giving me cavities. 

I can never picture life without this again. I don’t wish for a different time, but I wish this time would hurry up so I could have some semblance of structure in this unbelievably abstract new life in which my civil disobedience of stealing as much Coke Zero from the dining hall with my unlimited swipes is regulated by not a soul and I eat at the behest of my own prodding hand, no matter the time. This is incredibly odd. I think it is exciting, and I think it is terrifying, and I think it will be good.