I’m almost done with my philosophy class. About the best thing I can say about the experience is that it brought back some memories of high-school. Not good memories. Not exactly. More like how school actually felt at the time.  Before I was expelled/quit.

That sounds unpleasant (and it was) but it made me reassess some things. Reassess some reassessments. Like, over the years, I’d gotten progressively harder on my self about how all that school shit played out. I’d developed some strange notions about what I should of done and how. I even started feeling bad for my teachers. But, in dealing with the bullshit again, I remembered how bad it really was and how I really felt. I saw how frustrating and angering things can be –even at age forty– and even for a one month class. After years of that? With no end in sight? And that weirdly bad but accurate teenage ability to conceptualize the future? I can see why I acted the way I did.

So, if I ever meet him, I probably owe teenage Ryan an apology of some kind. Not that he wasn’t pretty much completely fucked up by the end of all that but, in retrospect, he made the best decisions that he knew how. Did what he needed to do to survive the shit and got out as fast as he could. Were mistakes made? yes. Things I wish I could take back? Of course. But there’s no getting around that shit whatever you do. Regrets are good. They’re proof of growth. And it’s not like life went bad as a result. All in all, life has been pretty fucking good. A lot better than I think it ever could have been if I followed their instruction. So even their dire warnings were bullshit.

And thank the good lord for punk rock and punks and the actual physical and economic infrastructure they created. That shit allowed me to find some little niche where I could survive and thrive for years. Without that, who knows where I’d be? Not here.


I also suppose that I’ve grown up a little bit though really I have not grown up one bit at all. It’s more like I can put up with anything for a short period. But, these days, I actually bother to explain my thinking, register my objections, footnote my sources and then fuck-off the assignment. If I remember right, I think I used to do that up to about grade seven or eight. Then, when I saw how little good that did, it just all became ‘fuck off’ and ‘fuck you’ and ‘fuck you, you can fuck right off.’ I can now see why.

But, the good news here is that I’ve started Biological Anthropology and it’s fucking awesome. The class is clear. It’s difficult but it’s sensible. It’s a lab. I’m learning all sorts of shit, how to code amino acids from DNA with paper and pencil, shit about bones and the human skeleton, and we’re just getting started. The textbook is dope too. It has a bunch of things that we’re not even assigned that I’m also trying to do. It’s a goddamn challenge though. And its logic is a bit terrifying. You feel like you make one error and your next thirty answers will be garbage. But everything I get wrong, I’m learning from. And that’s fine. I don’t care about the marks. I just want to learn. And, boy, I am learning.


It’s a lot of learning going on right now. It really does look like I’m actually going to be promoted at work. I had to do a bunch of modules. In a couple of weeks, if my schedule is any indication, I start training. (in the fucking morning of all things -ungh.) Right now, everything is education. That’s fine but sometimes you just want to do things too. My brain has never been much of a sponge. More like a sea urchin. And getting filled up with all this stuff, you kind of feel yourself vanishing. I don’t mind that feeling.

But I am looking forward to just pushing some carts tonight.

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