Whatever happened last year, it’s in the past now. It’s a new year and a new semester, which means you have a fresh crop of professors to whom you should apologize.
An honest email would read as follows: “My mind is a garbage bag full of loose soup” and “every day it’s a scavenger hunt of what I apparently should have known about,” rounded out with “heeeeelp,” but don’t bother. We have to think big picture. We are so young. The future isn’t about getting into a prestigious academic program. Besides the strong chance that these programs may very well be subterfuge to cover the fact that we’re all getting BAs, the college bubble will inevitably burst. We only have a vague idea of what a bubble is in this context. The future isn’t about that.
Believe me, 20 years from now you won't even remember your overdue essay because you'll still be reeling from your husband's affair with a 3D printed vulva.
How can you worry about a group project when, in your lifetime, you’ll be eating lab grown meat with blood in it? Not that there would be a beating heart in the meat. Probably more of a scattered network of rudimentary capillaries. After all, if we create borderline sentient meat units, we must accept the think pieces we bring upon ourselves.
On the topic of engineered meat, uteruses for men is probably still a ways away. I know, I want to be a reverse-dad too, but I think we can settle for little incubators kept in gender neutral backpacks. That seems reasonable. They’ll be transparent of course, so you can take it out and show everyone your developing tank child at parties.
Speaking of gender neutral, once Bernie Sanders is elected and everyone is dripping with healthcare bitcoins, the teens will start dallying in hormone experimentation. Swaying like fronds in the wind between two ends of a spectrum, they’ll tell me that it’s really more of a cloud.
Interior design involving magnets will become a trend but only for little things like plants. Neo riot grrls will use the technology just to float their discarded clothes and food wrappers in their carefully crafted rooms. They’ll make music on tiny, tiny keyboards about walking through their trash galaxy. Hopefully by then menstruation art will be over.
There will be a new type of Facebook update for some unexplored nuance of relationships. Or I’ll force my friends into adopting a pager system, so when they develop crushes I can immediately writhe with jealousy.
So, yes, this semester I’ll think about if I should finally get my life together but not as much as I’ll think about if I should copyright my nudes in the cloud.
Charlotte Raskovich is a Humor writer.
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