So I’ve been sick for the past few days, and it has been driving me up the wall. I mean, this whole thing has just been nuts, and…wait. What’s that date on the cover page? This is the last issue of the year, isn’t it? Oh, great! I was hoping this day would never come, and now here it is. Well, it looks like I’m done here. Why should I bother saying anything more on the subject of what’s grinding my gears? You’ll forget all about this column one day, and I’ll go back into a faded existence.
School’s done. Yeah, that’s a good thing, right? No. It’s not a good thing for me. I like it here, despite all evidence to the contrary. Pretty soon I’m going to have to pack up all of my posters and Bible companions in our family Honda. I had a great run here, but now I have to head home, back to my boring old life. Really, it is boring. A life where I am not hailed for my pretentiousness and obscene view of the world. Can you imagine that? No one at home cares whether I think ice is stupid, being tired is boring, or Brightspace is messed up. No one cares at all, because no one at home reads The Waltonian. They say they have better things to do, such as find various BBC-themed arts and crafts projects on Pinterest or engage in copious amounts of schoolwork despite the fact that it’s summer. I don’t want to do any of that stuff. I want to write about What Grinds My Gears…except I can’t anymore.
I won’t have an audience that just wants to hear all of the stupid stuff that is happening in my life. I won’t have an outlet where I can just vent about all of the messed-up stuff life has to offer. I won’t have a place where I can write about all of the crazy humor that God puts in our lives. I’m going to be writing for some other section next year. Maybe I’ll be in Features, or I might have a column in Arts and Entertainment, or who knows, I could even get a column in Sports…actually, not Sports. I could write for any column next year; I just won’t be right here at the bottom of Opinions. Some other schmuck will have this spot all to themselves, and The Waltonian will get to call it whatever they want. Maybe next year they’ll call it What Gets My Shorts in a Knot. I don’t know. I can’t predict the future. I don’t even want to predict what mine is going to be like, without What Grinds My Gears. I am going to miss this column. I really am. We’ve had a good run.
You know, maybe it’s a good thing that someone else is taking this column. I mean, just thinking about all of the garbage that bogs me down can get pretty tiresome. It’s not doing anything good for my health, that’s for sure. I mean, I’ve spent days just contemplating the question, “What is ticking me off today?” Well, now I don’t have to focus on what is ticking me off. Heck, I don’t even need to try to find stuff that is ticking me off. Some other guy can worry about what ticks them off, and they can write about it however they want. Me, I can live my freaking life without having to worry about all of that madness. I won’t have to force myself to be upset any longer. I can be…naturally upset. Won’t that be swell?
I don’t have to write this anymore…I don’t need to write this anymore…I think I’ll stop. So long, Eastern. It’s been real.