Last Quarter

This is the last quarter of my undergraduate career at UCLA. I am taking four classes, and I should be done in June. I may have to take a class or two over the summer, but I’m on track to graduate with a bachelor’s degree. After three years at this so-called prestigious university I can honestly say that I regret my decision to leave the U.S. military. I actually liked my role in the Marine Corps.

I could have been one of those lifers, as most devil dogs call them. I miss wearing my uniform. I miss going to the rifle range. I miss wearing those sexy dress blues on November 10th every year. It was an honor to serve my country. It was humbling to serve alongside men and women who have put their lives for others, who have committed their whole selves to something greater – country, God, Corps.

That was the spirit of it all – service. Now, I am out here serving myself. Waking up and going to class to study art… What a fucking joke!

I spent four years of my life preparing for war, preparing for combat and I left to earn a degree that is useless. It serves me nothing but bragging rights and a greater vernacular of the English language. I can write a 10, 15 or 20 page paper on indigenous cultures of the world. I can tell you about myths and rituals of the African countries; or, I can indulge in you some French – even though I only know about 10 or so words – and some sign language. All of this just to gain some personal notoriety.

Now I sit at a table with war dogs, salty ass veterans who have a plethora of stories under their belts and heavy beards. What I hated most is now what I yearn to return to – military service.

I hope that I have the opportunity to serve again, otherwise, well, I guess I’ll have to find out then what will happen.

Maybe I’ll run away to some third world country, maybe I’ll drink myself to sleep, or maybe I’ll go to grad school. That seems like a good idea, right?

Naw! Fuck academia! Fuck this institution. I didn’t come to UCLA to learn about social justice, or how women are underpaid, or how black people are being killed by cops, naw! I came to university to become a writer, and that I have become – a scribe, graph-o-maniac, a fuckin’ scribbler.

I’ll just wait for the right time to put something together. I have already thought of a cool alias, or what is popularly known as the ghostwriter.


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