300 Followers: What Shall Be Written · 12:36am Jan 5th, 2017

Three hundred. ~~Spartans~~.

As good a time as any to wax poetic about the future.

More below the awesome song.

As I type this, I'm lounging in my country house. More than fifty acres of land, three stories of big empty house, and a half hour away from all the buzz of city life. The true picture of tranquility, safety, and socially acceptable isolation. People lust after such things, plan their lives around retiring to such a place to live out their life's twilight in calm.

Ever notice how basically every old retired person's character arc in fiction starts with them realizing retirement is the most boring thing we've ever invented?

Yeah, after this Christmas break, I can safely say that I've discovered and internalized that fact a few decades ahead of time. I can say without fear of back-tracking that the country ain't for me, and I have no intention of getting roped into my father's mid-life crisis to retreat to a farm. I've discovered that I get cabin fever after two days, that I crave chaos and the background noise of a bustling city, and that the Internet is officially a large enough part of my life that it counts as a limb.

But I said I'd talk about the future. So what is the future for me?

University. A double major in English and Psychology, seeing as I can't think of anything else that would be relevant for an aspiring author to major in. After that, who knows? Maybe I'll still end up being a punk seizing on the first job with decent rates just to pay for food and electric, maybe I'll be the biggest bestseller the world's ever known. Nobody can really say.

And you know what? I prefer it that way.

The blank canvas, and the knowledge that I'm not the only one with a paintbrush. That I'm surrounded at all times by a hundred thousand ninja painters, all of them ready to radically alter the course of my life with a single brushstroke. More than the limitless potential of the future, I love the chaos of it. That unfathomable unpredictability that each passing day brings to us.

I'm no agent of chaos. I don't get paid enough for that. But you can certainly call me something to do with chaos. I'm a... I don't know, a tourist of chaos? What does that even mean?

Whatever. Point is, the future's a big uncertain mess, and the only certainty right now is that I've got 300 people standing behind me as I go forward.

And honestly? That's all you need to tell me for me to know that this is going to be one hell of a good year.