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Tale of college humor

My fate was already sealed within this envelope, I just didn’t know the outcome yet. Inside were five grades that would dictate my entire future: corporate lavishness, or unending grunt work. Six figure incomes, or forty more years of hell. If this report card doesn’t say 2.5 or better, I'm toast, I gulped. And the winner is… 2.5 on the button! Man was I relieved. My hopes of getting a college degree were still alive.

As spring semester began, I decided to get my act together and study my little butt off. No more goofing off and killing time. No TV, no hanging out with pals, no going potty unless I had a book in one hand. In quest of the mighty Diploma, I chose to spend every waking hour studying. Each dawn I carted a wheelbarrow full of books to the Student Union and, call me crazy, I read the reading assignments before class. Following each class, I went back there to rewrite my notes, and come evening I did the homework assignments. Even on Friday and Saturday nights, when the entire town of Macomb was alive with the sounds of parties in action, I snuggled up with text books.

"How come you don't eat with us no more?" Lee Harvey asked me one morning in the Student Union. I didn't know how to answer that one, except to say I was busy hitting the books. I felt bad, but it was the only way. Not that I didn't have time to eat, I just didn't want to be around the other floor members and get caught up in the goings-on. I couldn't risk anyone stealing my motivation for grades, considering I practically needed straight A's just to graduate. Friendships were a luxury I could not afford.

I made one exception. On my first weekend back home, I met a sweet young lady named Cindy. I couldn’t exactly ask her out, seeing how I would be five hours away after returning to college. So what the heck, I invited her down for a weekend visit. Of course, weekend visits with the opposite sex usually mean something’s gonna happen, and in this case, it happened as we got ready for bed that Friday night. I pushed the beds apart, only to watch Cindy push them together and smile as she drew close and kissed me. Suddenly, we were lovers.

Cindy tried to make it down to Macomb every other weekend for a two day visit. That was probably the perfect arrangement: I could study day and night for a couple weeks, then throw the books aside for a weekend of, well, love making. That’s pretty much all we did, it seemed. Don’t get me wrong, it was fun. But I think we went too fast. I really didn’t know this girl, and she was falling for me big time.

Everything I did was great in Cindy's eyes. The jokes I told, the things I said and did, nothing failed to please her. She didn't care where we went or what we were doing, as long as we were together. She didn't care what movie we went to see, as long as she could lay her head on my shoulder and hold my hand. I was now the center of her world. But my feelings weren’t growing, not the way hers were.

In no time at all, I was a total bookworm. I discovered some tools I had never known about in previous semesters, such as text books, note taking, and a large building called a "library." I was actually learning! I stunned myself when I started answering teachers’ questions in class. I thought only butt kissers did that. And yet I felt no shame.

At first, studying had been quite like forcing down bad tasting food, yet as I aced eight, ten, twelve tests in a row, I developed a real pride in my grades. The second I slapped one of those mothers down in front of a teacher, I wanted another. I lived for that next test. Even Calculus, the leading cause of suicide among college students, I consistently nailed down the highest scores in that killer class. Fellow students hated me. They sneered, they mumbled, and they refused to sit near me, except on exam days. I loved it. They thought I was some kind of nerd genius. Yeah, I guess I was.

I didn't care what others thought anyway. I was anti-social now, a hermit on a quest. I didn't need people. I passed on all the surface socializing that college offered. Just give me the tests and get out of the way, babe. All of the above, none of the above, this college stuff was easy. It worked. I actually became obsessed with classes, to the point where nothing else mattered. February, March, April and I still hadn't seen anything less than an A. At last I had complete control over the only things I cared about.

It didn’t add up. Cindy was a sweet, beautiful girl, and she cherished me. So why was I losing interest so fast? You know what I think it was? Too much sex. Honestly. With two weeks between each visit, we had lots of zeal and desire stored up by the time we reunited, so we felt compelled to fit a lot of love making into two days. It was just out of balance. I think it made Cindy more hooked, but it made me more distant somehow. There’s something to be said for getting to know each other first. But now it was too late, this thing was snowballing.

Whatever feelings I lacked, I tried hard not to show. The cover up was immensely draining, trying to act loving and interested when it just wasn't there. For several weeks I held fast and manufactured the feelings that Cindy counted on. Talking long distance wasn't so tough, but when she dropped in for a weekend, it was so hard to show the tenderness she needed. And if there's one thing I always hated in life, it's pretending. But I hated hurting an innocent person even more, so I was caught between two conflicting natures. And I knew Cindy sensed me pulling back from her.

I smoked every test that semester, a perfect academic season. Me, a man with only two A's in his long college career, acing five killer courses at once. Calculus, I ate it for breakfast. Statistics, I did it in my sleep. Managerial Economics, mere mental jumping jacks. Business Ethics, a walk in the park. Management of the Future, history. I felt a certain mastery as that Finals Week came to a close. The B.S. wasn't mine yet, nor would it be for another semester, but four months of constant effort were ended and a lofty goal achieved. I could look back with tremendous pride.

So why was I so unhappy, so empty and void? Perhaps because I was only living for myself. In order to get good grades, I turned my back on the world and locked everyone out. It made me cold and aloof. My brain was having a ball, while my heart was dormant and utterly void. And my biggest downfall was blowing off God. I blamed it on Macomb; there just weren’t any good churches or bible studies there, I reasoned. But really it was my bad. I didn’t want God any more. Not really. If I truly wanted Him, I would have been reading my bible and praying, something, anything, but that wasn’t happening.

I used to be growing. Now I was headed the other way. In a gradual but terrible way, I had changed. I was in a worse state now than ever. But I had straight A’s pal.

Summer school was a dream. Yeah, what a lifestyle, two hours of class each morning, then poolside from noon until dusk, checking out the babes and enjoying the sun. Somebody pinch me. I was living in paradise. That swimming pool really grew on me. And it wasn't just the bikinis, although they played a large part. It was the game, that hard hitting cut-throat game of water volleyball that I lived for each day. I was not alone; eight or ten of us battled in the pool every afternoon, men and women who were almost as serious about winning as we were about getting tan.

This paradise called for some bragging. So I wrote lots of postcards to Lance while lounging poolside. I made sure to send them to his work address so he would get them while stuck in a stuffy office. "Hi Lance, I’m just laying next to the pool and thought I’d drop you a line. Lots of nice babes here. Bikini heaven, my friend. Young, tan women each trying to outdo one another in capturing the attentions of men, as if that would work, right? But you’re probably pretty busy working so I’ll cut it short and get back to the sights. Have a nice day at the office. Your pal, Morgy." If I knew Lance, the postcards were killing him. Maybe that’s why he showed up, out of the blue, that first Friday evening, standing at my door in his swimsuit with suitcase in hand. He was so predictable.

Monica was my favorite water volleyball player. The first day I met her, we played one on one for an entire afternoon, both of us too competitive to quit. She never stopped smiling, and I never stopped staring at those foxy blue eyes. With women like her, it's hard to tell if they dig you, or if their eyes smile like that all the time. Monica was a collegiate swimmer, and it certainly showed in her body, long and muscular with a sexy V-shape to her top half. Her hair was blonde with golden streaks, and her skin a nice tropical brown. I think she knew I was in awe.

I stayed in awe every afternoon, wondering if this thing was mutual and, if so, how to get it off the ground. Part of the problem was what to do about Cindy back home: I still hadn't brought myself to break things off with her. And part of the problem was Monica's popularity. Every male at that pool knew her, and she relished the attention. And the other guys had an edge: they met up with Monica in the night life, a place I was exiled from. "You goin' out tonight?" they always asked, and she gladly gave a for-sure answer.

That was tough on this lonesome soul. The only thing I valued now-a-days was what I was writing about: women and fun. But I'd long since thrown out the weapons that helped me get those things. Each sunny day, I looked around that pool and saw one hundred carefree people having so much fun with life. The ones having the most fun, those were the ones who attracted all others. That's what I saw in Monica. I wanted so much to have what she had, even if it was beer induced. Oh, to be carefree once more, and to be wanted.

I couldn’t believe I was actually missing the party life. I thought I had that licked. I thought I would never look back. Back when I was growing with God, I didn’t miss partying one bit. But I missed it now. I was running on empty, and any gas station would do.

My hopes soared when Monica told me to stop by the Palace one evening while she was waitressing. I hadn't gone to those old stomping grounds of mine in months, that place where I no longer fit in. But for her I could make a special trip. For her I'd go anywhere. I went there alone, expecting I don't know what. Here's what I got,

I don't know which hurt more: the emptiness in my own life, or the way I was slowly killing Cindy. I should just end it, I finally decided, and that's what I attempted to do, come her next visit. I said my peace, thinking the girl would just accept it and let go. I was hardly prepared for hours of tearful pleading. Never had I seen a heart so torn and bleeding because of me. My only instinct was to take away the hurt, so like a fool, I gave in. Of course we can work it out, I assured her. I just didn't know how to stand my ground and hurt someone, even if it was best in the long run.

Now I was in a worse fix than before. I still didn't have the kind of feelings a man should have for a woman, and now I saw just how shattered I could make Cindy. I didn't think the girl could be so attached, for I hadn't given her my heart nearly as much as I did with Sheila or Teri. But what I gave didn't matter; it's what Cindy gave, and what she dreamed of getting back. That's what counted. That's what crushed her when I tried to take myself away from her.

In the ensuing weeks, I put off the inevitable, all the while feeling pretty cruel and cold. I felt like a murderer, to be precise. I had my finger on the trigger and sooner or later I was going to gun her heart down. The longer I waited, the more my guilt grew, staying in the back of my mind, a nagging issue just begging to be resolved. And the worst shame of all was knowing that I had dragged this out for three months now. That's something I swore I would never do.

This gave me a whole new perspective of Sheila, Teri, Diane, and all the girls who had to cut this cowboy loose. I suddenly saw just what they had to go through in letting me go: cool detachment, denial of feelings, a desire to be free but no desire to come out and say so. And I saw how torturous it was for even the bad guy. I just hoped the guilt hadn't hardened their hearts as it was now doing to mine.

I eventually realized Monica was out of my league and we would never be more than friends. That was fine. I liked having girls as friends, especially fun loving girls like her. Now if only I could get squared away with the other twelve beautiful girls that hung out at the pool each day. It was a feast for the eyes. Most guys – and some girls – wore sunglasses so they could check out the bods without being detected. Me, I just tried not to get caught staring. But it was getting harder. It seemed that I was way more into scoping the terrain now that Cindy and I were dating, like that had opened the floodgates. Like she was just the appetizer and now I was ready for the smorgasbord. I could never be satisfied. Only the babes of that chlorine and concrete jungle could catch my interest. Somewhere along the line, I changed, and I didn’t like the new me.

I'll stay away from the pool, I vowed to myself. And I'll clean up my act. I could manage that. If I could give up drinking, I could pull this off, too, right? So each afternoon after class, I passed by the passion pool without looking up. I refused to be controlled by that place any longer. If I could not overcome its alluring power, then I could certainly dodge it.

I knew in my heart that self discipline was not enough; I had to let God's Spirit in. Let Him make a home in me, and let Him choose the decorating. That meant seeking Him, chasing after Him, reading scripture, praying, and most of all repenting. Honest repentance, there's the tough part. It's a drag to admit I've been in a wrong place, and it's not any easier to ask God to change me. He might want to take away the comfortable sins, the ones I see as harmless. And furthermore, what if I make a full fledged effort to clean up my act, only to flop tomorrow? I know He can tell lip service when he hears it. So with that in mind, I made mini-repentances on a daily basis. No great pledge or life long vow, just a cry for help here and there. And as I did, I got mini revelations, little chunks of help, of strength, encouragement and faith. One of those came in the form of a prophecy, a prose I wrote after waking up out of a sound sleep:

Whether these words came from God or from my own sub-conscience, I don’t know. But they meant something to me. Writing was the one thing that kept me in touch with my soul. And every time I wrote to God, I felt right afterwards, whether the problems disappeared or not.

At about that time, I noticed a quote I'd kept pinned on the wall above my desk, a quote that I never fully understood until now: "Life can never be the same for you; once you have drunk of the Wine of My Giving, the Life Eternal, all earth's attempts to quench your thirst will fail."

That surely was true. Earth's attempts were failing big time. Burying myself in school work failed, having a devoted girlfriend failed, chasing my own desires failed. Only one thing satisfied me any more: living for God, talking to Him, writing to Him, reading His Word. So why did I abandon these things so easily? Why couldn't I be stronger?

Being away from the old prayer groups definitely didn't help. I never realized how much strength they gave me, those fuel-ups on Tuesday and Thursday nights. I wished I could have something like that down here in Macomb. But the closest I'd found were student church groups that were more social than spiritual. They were okay for hanging out with moral people, but that wasn’t enough to set me free from the junk I was in.

Turn to Chapter 24: How To Graduate In Under 10 Years (An Other B.S.)… http://www.morgypoo.com/ch24.htm