The Horrendous Truth of Nature’s Creations
Can someone explain to me why in the world evolution up and decided one day that we needed to stick wings on ants?
I mean, you walk into your kitchen, but since you’re a uni student, there’s not really any food in there that’s not instant noodles or three months expired hot dogs in the freezer. And that pile of clothes, so carefully washed by — definitely not you, cause you’re too busy wallowing in the self-destructive behaviour of incessant self-criticism which seems to attack the most random angles of your existence —
Oh, hey, why am I, a person who is more than capable of not only surviving the mind-numbing and soul-crushing experience that is university, but also of being one of the best at it, not good enough to my own fucking mind? Oh, I don’t know, I guess my life is not enough of a dramatic novel that I need to persistently come up with reasons why I should be stressed out. You know, just a way to not face the fact that those questions on papers handed out to you were made by people who went through the same experience, somehow made it, and then decided to have a round two. … And a round three. And then they decided to stick around and show people like you why what you’re learning is the way it is, or why it is ‘important’.
And also the fact that what you are trying to dramatise is actually laughably easy. You attend a lecture where someone else put together the ideas you’re supposed to cram into your head, prepare for more questions to answer, and then answer those stupid questions. But here you are, procrastinating, being unreasonably pressured by external sources that really could not affect you as much as you may think they can, and telling yourself that even though you are certifiably more than intelligent enough to ace this shit, you go through the extra trouble of overthinking every little thing, thus hindering any measurable progress you could achieve by simply doing what you need to do to accomplish the meaningless and simple goal of acing a test.
I mean, it all counts towards your GPA, a fucking decimal number that future employers will look at to determine whether you deserve to have enough money to eat daily or not, especially since you went through the trouble of going through four years of the hellish nightmare where the sole purpose of the whole experience seems to be to take all of your money, then throw you out into the world, which, by the way, you know nothing about by the time you graduate. It’s just a place for you to gain easy access to knowledge you otherwise would have to actually search for and teach yourself, and then have a certificate that tells people,
“HEY, HE CAN EXPLAIN WHY CARS WORK THE WAY THEY DO” or some other shit that you look at four years later and wonder, why was I always so stressed out, by the way?
… Right, ants. You’re hungry, you’re ruminating a useless thought in your mind about how you lack the mental capacity for the stupid courses you’re taking, even though they come more than naturally to you. If you sat down at your desk and actually studied something, which you were doing until two weeks ago when random physical pains decided to take hold of your body — which, by the way, are fucking awesome, especially when they make it physically impossible to get out of bed, causing you to miss lectures you otherwise would not, but because you missed them despite being in, quite frankly, immense amounts of pain, you still find a way to make yourself feel like shit about who you are, and your life decisions — but of course, you’re never one to acknowledge your own efforts. Maybe it was a bad habit you acquired over the years of growing up with a mother who never once appreciated anything you did or told you that you did a good job. Oh, what’s that? You graduated with a 4.0/4.0 GPA from high school, actually had high hopes and dreams until the reality of everything kicked in, not to mention went through trauma that worked on extinguishing that flame that once resided in your chest that drove you to keep working, to go on, and to do better? And now here you are, trying to recover, but she’s not making it any easier? Also, she refuses to acknowledge that you’re only human? It’s okay, you’re still a piece of shit for having a pathological tendency to let your accomplishments go unrecognised. After all, it’s always your fault.
Of course you try to overcome all of that. It’s all in the past, right? And you can change your brain’s wiring if you so wished. I mean, you can, and you work on it everyday. But some things cannot be changed. Some… shall we say, previously diagnosed things that can make life harder than it is for the average person.
I’m sorry, long tangent. So, what had to happen for evolution to decide, hey, these pests are not already intrusive and repulsive enough! Let’s slap on some wings, this should fix ALL THE ISSUES OF THE WORLD.
Oh and, the best part is, those ants with wings? Yeah, they’re the horny fuckers trying to populate the entire planet with their annoying working ants (feels like these insects are a little too into slavery, eh?), so they get those wings not only to fly into your house and make you shit yourself, cause something with that many legs should never fly (imagine slapping wings onto that spider that gives you a lethal four hour boner), but also to find a fucking nesting area to fuck each other’s brains out and make more tiny disgusting babies that will show up in your ramen, cause you’re a poor uni student, and the only joy you could possibly have in life, like in the warm embrace of an unhealthy tangle of carbohydrates and preservatives, has to be ruined by some of nature’s most horrifying mutations. Just, why?
You open up that cup of pathetic food, and there they are. Floating in the boiling hot water. Corpses upon corpses of enslaved ants. Fuck this shit.
Not only that. Do you know where those flying ants decided to reproduce? YUP. In that basket of clean clothes you recently finished washing. Well, okay, not you, it was your mother, but the point stands. WHY ARE THEY IN YOUR CLOTHES, LEAVING ANT PHEROMONES ALL OVER YOUR UNDERWEAR? Oh, those boxers you could never afford yourself, which you love to wear, by the way, since they’re so comfortable and all? Yup, infested by horny insects. Awesome.
Let’s not forget how frequently insomnia seems to love to visit you. It’s two in the morning, and you have to be up at 7:30 to attend a lecture at 08:00? Ha, yeah mate, welcome to the rest of your adult life.
It’s funny. You can be as angry as you want to be about uni and ants and all that shit, but in reality, simplifying it all makes it… hilarious. University is not as hard as people make it out to be, and yet it’s as if the whole goddamn world wants you to be a caffeine addict, who runs on minimal sleep, is clinically depressed, and never good enough. But you know what? Fuck the whole. goddamn. world. You just chill the fuck out, smile about how ridiculous the human experience really is, and ace those tests. You got this. In two more years, you’ll be free to be stressed about other stupid shit, until you get a moment to yourself and you think about how stupid the stupid shit actually is.
To all the university students out there. No matter how shit things may seem, remember, it’s all actually pretty hilarious, and things always work out in the end. Now, go do your homework or something. It’s not hard. But never forget to keep your mind open, and keep reading.