Today I made some new friends - a few fellow journalists-in-training. As I listened to the stories of their adventures over a pleasant lunch in the cafeteria, I looked back through the short but colourful time I had spent with my own class.
What struck me most about these memories was how weird they were. It was as if they weren't my own, but someone else's outlandish fictional creations that were implanted into the part of my brain responsible for memory. Is that the prefrontal lobe? I don't know. I should have googled it before I started writing, but oh well.
Anyway, as I was saying, I have some pretty weird memories. And you know why? Because my journalism class was fucking weird. Like take 20 random people off 20 different streets in 20 different towns (possibly even countries), and throw them into one room weird. But despite our weirdness, we somehow managed to mesh together well, some times better than others.
As I proceed to the next chapter of my life (Chapter 5, in case you hadn't noticed) I wonder if my new classmates will ever live up to the old. I'm probably in for my share of craziness going to an art school, but I wouldn't be surprised if I never meet a crazier group of people than the ones I'm parting ways with. Must be a journalism thing.
Yes, yes, you're probably thinking I haven't seen anything yet. Well, my dear reader, if you haven't been around me and my class, then it is you who hasn't seen anything yet. And when you finally do, God help you.
No comments:
Post a Comment