Mad Brad: Glad Brad no more

Sometimes, it’s like there is so much going on. Hurricanes are popping up like pimples on a boy in puberty and someone from Alaska could be making important decisions.

But my attention on elections and storms is grossly overshadowed by the The Dark Knight’s climb over $500 million at the box office, and my suspicion that the iTouch has a mind hell bent on destroying life as we know it.

The fact is, no matter how many movies break 500 million dollars, and how loud we turn up our iPods, we still have to face the situations and the storms of our lives.

Last week I was stressed and depressed. It was a tandem that hardly visits me and can never seem to remember my name. I normally never let them get to me, because my general apathy won’t allow me to care enough. I just put on some Jack Johnson and I forget what was bothering me. However, I found myself not being the “Glad Brad” that everyone’s used to.

I think it has a lot to do with being in school all summer. The breaks between semesters and sessions gave hardly enough space for me to think, and I plunged right back into it for the fall. If it weren’t for having only 31 hours until graduation, I probably would have moved to Tuscany to write poetry and eat pasta on a villa.

I planned to head to Austin to see the Meg and Dia band rock out. It was a twofer for me because they’re one of my favorite bands, and I had never been to Austin in my adulthood.

Upon my return, I found that Sam Houston State was still here. My responsibilities, work and relationships were waiting for me to attend to them. I still had two classes a day, and a pudgy stomach.

All that my trip did for me was remind me to live, and that there is a process for everyone’s life. When you come to college you’re insinuating your commitment to a four or so year process by which yields a degree and a transition from calling mommy for snack money, to buying groceries for the week. No matter what you study, or what you want out of life, you cannot escape.

I am determined to grow a full man-beard before the New Year, and I will find every piece of free food that SHSU has to offer. I wake up every day and hope that President Gaertner will knock on my door and say, “Hey, Brad Basker, you’re so great! You don’t have to go to class anymore. Just keep those columns coming and I’ll have your diploma in May.”

But that hasn’t happened yet.

Even if the president never comes to my door, and I never grow a man-beard, I will still produce a “Mad Brad” to waste four minutes and 37 seconds of your lives once a week.

It’s the least I could do.

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