Transitions...sounds like a Paul McCartney album

Hi, my name is Nathan Rose, and I am: Aggrieved with my circumstances. Sometimes the working world is a wrecking ball and your co-workers are the demolition crew. Other times this strange world resembles a rift in the normalcy of space-time, something akin to Bladerunner fused with the dwarf village from Secret of Mana.

Actually, I'm kidding. My ripe and fresh new world is the grandest place I have been, though a strange and ill-fated journey has brought me here.

A couple weeks ago, the greatest sympathies I could muster bled out of my cavernous, void, and malnourished heart for a feeling of endearment towards Jess. It's a similar feeling that I've let forth continually, semester after semester, as brave and unsuspecting newly post-collegiate young folk venture out of their dormitories and jail cells for the last time, like furbolgs exiting the mother den to raid an unsuspecting night elf encampment.

However, I feel it's time to set the record straight. The transition from college to the working world is not unlike any other transition ever faced. I have lived, somewhat, over 3,000 years and learned much in my time about "transitions". I must say, as the only one on this blog who was cryogenically frozen in 1999 AD, awoken in 5103 AD to help the futurelings combat the Cephalian menace, and been sent back in time to 1999 to save Earth from the Y2K Gorrelian face-eating virus, I am all knowing when it comes to transitions.

Just remember, if you were anything like me in elementary school, you couldn't wait to get to middle school and "grow up". Then a subvariate Beta strain of the Gorrelian virus ate your face, atrophied your entire body, and made your mind a defeated hole of self-consciousness. The virus wore off after 3 years, but its effects forever remained, and your soul was forever corrupted.

It gets better. Remember that transition from middle school to high school? Yeah, that was pretty cool. But classes were hard and the legacy of middle school remained. Your only recourse was to assemble a misfit, ragtag posse of companions and do your best to emulate the likes of Emilio Estevez, Ralph Maccio, or Patrick Swayze in the beloved classic, The Outsiders. Cause you certainly weren't going to read the book so you could improve yourself in 9th grade english.

Oh, oh crap. What about college? In my case, it actually was easier, for two reasons. Number one, I had the (mis)fortune of being completely retardified in high school by taking pointlessly overloaded courses that crippled my ability to speak or write. I consequently got barraged with C's and D's but miraculously only one F. So of course, college was easier because I was used to having an extremely heavy workload with little to no payoff. College itself became less work, with more payoff. And hotties. More hotties. Secondly, by that time I had already travelled 3000 years into the future and seen the dark vision of mankind's last battle. I had stood on the gates overlying the sea of Velnish, beside the last refugees of Cephalian War A33U9. And then I tucked tail and ran into the time transporter. Sweet irony being that I didn't land in 1950 so that I could invent rock and roll like I would have desired. Just got pooped out back to 1999 so I was just in time for college. Ech. Oh yeah, and saving everyone from the Y2K bug too. I really did that. So yeah, college was also a breeze because I had risen above present day mankind's futile purpose and become, in fact, superman. Kind.

Of.
Anyway, this latest transition is just one in a series, which you will no doubt collect all of if you die old. Unless somehow, you plan to manipulate the matrix like me and avoid marriage, kids, and grandkids. I am patiently waiting for the transition to retirement, because I think I'm ready for that. I'm just going to play guitar, and video games, and yell at kids who walk on my lawn or throw my cat. Oh, and also start up a consistent meth habit.