Let's Go Office Space on the Indiana Jones Boulder in the Backyard

Lots and lots to talk about in this post.

First of all, I would like to publicly thank my parents for my birthday present. Better late than never right? Definitely right. They bought me a, drum roll please, Omar Vizquel jersey. Yes, the same Omar Vizquel jersey that I wrote about in one of my first few posts. It is glorious. I can't wait to rock it to the stadium this year.

Next we move on to the happenings of Spring Break: that one week of the year when college students let loose, go some place warm, where the beer flows like wine, where beautiful women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrano (Name it!). My spring break was a tad bit different. It consisted of an appointment with a nephrologist, an appointment with a urologist, a twenty-four hour urine collection (which is exactly what it sounds like), a blood draw, a dentist appointment (where I was informed of the ticking time bomb that are my wisdom teeth), an ultrasound and an x-ray of my kidneys and bladder, and another appointment with the urologist.

After the ultrasound and x-ray, things were going about as well as I could have hoped. My doctor appointments were finished for the week, and I had two surgeries scheduled for June. The surgeries were stone blasts, which is not the technical term. This is when I am put under and high frequency, high volume sound waves are blasted at a localized area of my back. The sound travels into my kidney and pulverizes the stone (hopefully). But then the urologist called after reading the ultrasound and x-ray. The woman on the other end of the phone whispered (because she had laryngitis), "John needs to come in and see Dr. Spear because there is a stone blocking his right kidney."

Son of a bee sting! So my mother in I get in the car and make the drive to downtown Akron, where we had just been to have lunch with my dad. Dr. Spear informed us that the multiple stones I have been experiencing have really been this one stone attempting to move, getting stuck, and falling back into my kidney. It needs to be removed within the next few weeks to avoid permanent kidney damage. Unfortunately, the stone is currently lodged in the first part of my ureter (the tube connecting the kidney to the bladder), which makes sound waves extremely dangerous and no longer an option. The only option is for the doctor to go up after it.

Attention: Reader Discretion is Advised.

While he's up there, providing he is able to remove the stone without pushing it back into the kidney, he puts in place a stent. A stent sits in the ureter and widens it so that any smaller stones or debris may pass with less obstruction. The problem is getting the stent out one week later. As a minor, patients are put under for stent removal. But I'm nineteen now. So I have two options.

1) Come back in and have the doctor go up after the stent, wide awake, with just a little bit of local anesthetic.

2) The stent has a fishing line attached to it. The line leads out of the ureter and into the bladder ... and out of the bladder ... and then out all together. It stays like that for the week. And if that's not crazy enough: after the week has passed, the stent needs to be removed. By me. Myself. Using the fishing line. Let that soak in for a little bit. Yes, I am expected to pull a four-inch piece of plastic out of my area, starting at my kidney, using only a fishing line and zero anesthesia. This leaves me with a two main questions:

1) Are you freaking kidding me?

2) Isn't one minor surgery without any anesthesia enough for a person's lifetime? This will be my second thanks to physician's assistant Dan of the Cleveland Clinic who so willingly removed my first Hickman catheter with zero anesthesia. In his defense though, he did use "enough local anesthetic to put down a horse." O you did, physician's assistant Dan? These tears rolling down my face must be in my imagination.

I asked the urologist if the removal hurt... Let me rephrase that. While I picked my jaw up off the floor, my mother asked if the removal hurt. He responded, "No ... well, umm ... There is a little discom- ... It's probably a little weird ... I've nev- ... Yea, it will probably hurt." Let me say one thing: "Duh. It's four inches long and not a stream of urine. It's going to hurt."

So that's the latest addition to my list of medical maladies. It's a big one.

If a normal-sized, pain causing kidney stone, which is usually about the size of a grain of sand, is blown up to the size of a playground pebble, I wonder if this stone would be as big as the Indiana Jones boulder? Sounds like a job for math. Ha. Maybe I'll ask Dr. Spear to put the darn thing in a jar for me so I can measure it, take a picture with it, and go Office Space on it in the backyard. -IW

Winter Quarter's Top 5

My apologies for the delay in a blog post. I have been home since Wednesday night. Most of my time has been spent watching the NCAA basketball tourney, with a little fantasy baseball drafting mixed in. I think the lack of needing a blog-post stems from being home. With the fam around, I have found I am able to vent throughout the day and removes the bottling effect that I get while I am at school. Spring break is going as well as I could have hoped. I haven't even had a kidney stone since exams ended. That of course means that I was, indeed, passing a stone during my exams. While most students were considering test-taking strategies and how to cram ten-weeks of knowledge into their minds for a two-hour test, I was considering when to take a percocet so that it would take away the pain for the test but would wear off enough for me to focus and not be "high as a kite." It was a little difficult ...

But I did receive my grades for winter quarter: two Bs and an A. Not too shabby considering the personal turmoil endured. Let's see ... I passed seven kidney stones. I lost my grandfather, my first grandparent to pass away. I battled persistent loneliness. I started a blog. I feel I was scapegoated for writing truth-facts. I ran into a few friends from high school on campus... two friends who go to Dayton... who are two of my best friends... who came to Columbus to see other close friends of mine... who didn't bother to tell me they were coming and didn't plan on me ever finding out about their visit... I decided to become an R.A. next year. I was eliminated from the pool of potential R.A. candidates. And I made the decision to transfer to the University of Akron.

Upon reflection of the events of the past quarter, I have learned a few things about myself. Here is a list of the Top 5 things I learned about myself:

5) I am bitter. I do not like it when others get something and I do not through no extra effort. These things are usually SGS-related. For instance: getting to party three times a week, getting to eat a slice of pizza and not double over in pain or need to run to the bathroom, not passing kidney stones...

4) I am jealous. See 5.

3) I like baseball. I always knew this. Baseball is one thing that has always made me happy. This year more than ever, though, spring training brought hope. This winter was, as I've said before, not the greatest. The return of baseball brought the return of a fan's hope for a World Series Championship Flag being raised above Jacobs' Field (Jacobs' Field, not Progressive Field). This was also helped by the Farrell-clan's shared season ticket package and the promise of getting to see at least ten games at the park for the first time since we gave up our own season tickets.

2) I am independent. I went to see Watchmen alone. It was pretty unenjoyable, but I did it. Some would say, "you're a better person for going through that." That comment is, of course, false. But I did it. And every night I walked a few blocks and got dinner, alone. And every morning I ate breakfast, and every afternoon I ate lunch, and every evening I ate fourthmeal, each one alone.

1) I am awesome.

-Intestineless Wonder

Happy Birthday?

I'd like to welcome Mr. Andrew Subak to the growing list of followers. A wonderful addition he certainly is.

So yesterday was my 19th birthday. I came to the conclusion that birthdays are more of a "non-day" for me now. What am I celebrating? I'm nineteen so ... what? Two more years and then ... I still can't drink? It seems to me that it now makes more sense to measure years from the November 2 date. My parents explained to me that we need to celebrate March 15 because these birthdays were very nearly taken away from me and my family. I understand that and tried to remember it. It didn't work so well. That was mostly due to Kidney Stone number 14 tearing through my right ureter. I think I need to start naming these the way they name hurricanes. So here are the names of my 14 kidney stones in order: 1-Andrea, 2-Blake, 3-Christine, 4-Davey, 5-Emily, 6-Franklin, 7-Georgia, 8-Harrison, 9-Ida, 10-Jackson, 11-Katelyn, 12-Leonardo, 13-Madeline, 14-Nathaniel.

Stone Nathaniel was a doozy. It was easily the worst of the most recent seven stones, which occured over a year after my first seven stones. I was joking with my aunt that I needed the percocet to get through family visits because I can't drink. Ha. It gave me a chuckle. Mostly because it isn't true. I love seeing the fam, especially after it has been so long.

And now it is study time. Exam week has hit with full force, and I need to study. Even though the only thing I want to do right now is sit on espn.com and spend four or five hours filling out my NCAA bracket. I don't even know when I'll be able to fill out the bracket. Tomorrow I have to go back to Columbus for a 5:30 exam. Then on Wednesday I have tests back to back at 1:30 and 3:30 before coming back home. The games then begin on Thursday.

The selection show and bracketology weren't very entertaining last night, mostly because I was so strung out. It's hard to care about anything when you can't feel anything. Staring at the wall is entertaining enough to pass a few hours when those narcotics are doing their job...

With any luck, my test tomorrow night will be cake, the two tests on Wednesday will pass without problems, I will be able to put some time into the brackets before then, and I will win some money. Either way, at least spring break is in sight. In 48 hours I will be on my way home for a week and a half. Later e'er'body - IW

S-GUT

Behold! I have risen from the ashes, a glorious Phoenix, reborn. It sort of seemed appropriate considering the recent issues and the latest episode of 30 Rock, which in my opinion, has overtaken the Office as the funniest show on television.

The first thing I would like to address in today's post is the description of the blog located at the top of the page. It reads: "An open forum for those attempting to live and deal with Short-Gut Syndrome to share and swap ideas on what does and does not work." Simple, concise, and, yes, totally accurate. Anyone and everyone who has been affected by SGS in anyway has access to this web page and the ability to post comments. Hence, "open forum." The problem with making this page private is that it would do just that: make this page private. Anyone familiar with SGS knows that if there is anything we SGers lack it is intestines. If there is anything else that we lack, it is information, whether located in books, the interweb, or any other medium for collecting and reviewing information. There's nothing out there. Nothing. I said in my first post that there were only about 1200 Americans with SGS. 1200 out of 600,000,000. Many of these SGers have had the condition since infancy. By the time they are old enough to use the internet to get an idea for what does and doesn't work, they already have there own idea, or they have already reached the best it will ever get and nothing they do will change their life, or they don't make it that long. Hence, "share and swap ideas on what does and does not work." So making this page private would do SGers no good. I can't find them, they can't find me. Power in numbers. Short-Gutters Unite Today. (Hint: write it as an acronym)

Speaking of "share and swap ideas on what does and does not work," what do you think is the key word of that selection? "Ideas." Not "facts," or "cures," or "treatments." "Ideas." Most of what I know about my body has come from (unfortunate) trial and error. Let's see how rice works instead of pasta. What if I ate a carb-rich meal right before going to bed? Does it really matter if I drink a low-cal sugar free, electrolyte beverage, or is regular Gatorade tolerable? (By the way SGers, G2 is NOT that low in sugar, Powerade Zero is sugar free and tastes better than G2, BUT Vitamin Water 10 just came out. It is low in sugar with 3 grams per serving, and tastes fantastic.) So again, Short-Gutters Unite Today. We need to have ways to share some ideas, because, let's face it, I come up with more ideas than my doctors do.

And I am in agreement with my fellow SGer Renee: dealing with SGS is about so much more than just an undiscoverable diet. Nobody has ever heard of Short-Gut Syndrome, and don't fully understand it unless they are incredibly close to someone who has it. Even members of my close family and friends don't quite understand, and it's frustrating. So frustrating that even the smallest things can cause me to snap on a random day after that small thing has never bothered me before (i.e. a suitcase).

Back home, I dealt with pent up frustration, both before and after 11/2, by talking with my best friend for a couple hours every couple weeks or so. We called them "Man-to-Man's." Just the two of us talked as long as it took to get everything out. We never divulged any of what was said to anybody. There are two that I can recall clear as day. The first was after school on Monday, October 29, 2007. I remember the exact day because it was our last before my peritoneal muscle gave out. After school that day, the two of us claimed we were going to go run (yea right, a week after cross country ended, and we're going to run) and just got into his truck and sat in the parking lot. I think that one went for about two and a half hours. The other one I remember was Friday, May 2, 2008. I remember that date because it was the last time we had to come in to the school senior year, it was the morning of prom day, and it was the six-month anniversary of 11/2. This time we were in my car, it was pouring down rain, and it went about an hour.

This blog has become my new Man-to-Man. The friend I speak of goes to school back home. We talk on facebook from time to time and still hang out almost every time I come home, but he is inconsistent in replying to messages and sometimes disregards them all together. So, my frustration is released here. Frustration about being so incomprehensibly different from everyone else, about classwork and dorm life, about not having that Man-to-Man to use as a crutch to get through every couple weeks, and about not having a "replacement" friend here.

Yet another point in the plus column for transferring home. Perhaps the Man-to-Man will return to form. I hope it does. I am going home tomorrow after classes. Spring break could not come at a better time, honestly. I think everyone could use a break to allow everything that has transpired to blow over. Good riddance, winter quarter. I welcome Spring quarter with open arms and hope that a fresh start and a better class schedule won't be drowned by the inevitable April Showers.

Until next time, Short-Gutters Unite Today!

-The Intestineless Wonder

Elephant > Ant

And so it ends ... The days of having an outlet to let out my pent up frustration, a medium for dealing with the trials and tribulations of an unheard of illness, and a blog that nobody knew about except for family and other SG's have officially come to an end. The Intestineless Wonder Blog has been found by a fellow resident of Bradley 4, it has been passed from person to person, and now instead of being that one skinny, scowling loner, I am the skinny, scowling loner who everybody should hate.

I'm sorry if I offended you. I'm sorry that I tried to act normally while normalcy was still so far out of reach. But most of all, I'm sorry that you all find it necessary to provide added mental beatings to a person who has been so obviously scarred while offering no assistance.

I'm sorry that I roll with so many punches and let so many things go without confronting you all. I'm sorry that every time I do anything that isn't appropriate for a Boy Scout, I get called out and scapegoated.

I'm sorry that I came to Ohio State, the institution that has always been a picturesque destination; the place that would make everything okay. Now, it has been tainted. When I think of Ohio State later in life, I won't think about the beautiful campus, the pride of the Scarlet and Gray, or the glorious football team. Instead, I will think about how Ohio State joined the endless list of short-term, life-bettering goals that merely failed to come true. There have always been these goals, for sixteen and a half months. Once I am discharged from Pittsburgh and go home, everything will be okay; but it got worse. Once I go back to school part-time, everything will be okay; but it got worse. Once I go back to school full-time, everything will be okay; but it got worse. Once graduation rolls around and I can leave high school behind, everything will be okay; but it got worse. Once I go to 5 days a week on TPN instead of all 7, everything will be okay; but it got worse. Once I am completely off TPN, everything will be okay; but it got worse. Once I gain my weight back, everything will be okay; but that has yet to transpire. Once I go to Ohio State, everything will be okay; but it got worse.

Before leaving for Ohio State last summer, my thoughts about it and my family's thoughts about it, were that you never heard of any stories about anyone not liking college. Sure there were roommate horror stories, there were professor horror stories, there were social horror stories; but one constant was that college was the best time of your life. The chances that my college experience wouldn't be great were very slim: I'm guessing about 2 in a million. Funny how I've hit those chances twice now.

So, to my fellow residents of Bradley 4, I don't know exactly the circumstances for your discovery of this page. I'm sure whoever stumbled upon it had a good laugh at my expense and thought, "hey, this kid is sharing his inner-most emotions. Guys are stereotypically emotionless. Let's make him feel worse for sharing. Hey, he isn't happy with our floor. Let's make him feel bad for that too. Each of us has 50 pounds on him; what's he going to do?"

And so the forwarding began. Anti-IW comments posted on a few prior posts calling me a racist expletive, telling me people won't be nice to me if I write bad things about them, remarking that I surely think highly of myself, and so on and so forth. Easy, simple, predictable.

I'm disappointed to tell you the truth. Not only in my college experience, but in the lack of acceptance from a group of people (liberal college students) who are notorious for their blind acceptance. So I present to you my responses to the afore mentioned comments. I am not a racist. I just don't enjoy Kanye West (who once accused President George W. Bush of hating black people ... logic: flawed). People on the floor decided not be nice to me long before they discovered my blog. And, yes, I do think highly of myself. If you knew half the things I have had to overcome, you would think highly of me and my mental strength, too. Maybe come and have a conversation with me sometime. Ask about what I've experienced that has been "so bad." Maybe try to understand before you decide that I am exaggerating. I guarantee it will surprise you.

I am disappointed that the tight-knit community my fellow B4 residents feel we have thought it would be best to insult me on my own webpage, which is read by my parents, friends, and sister, instead of offering a helping hand. It doesn't have to be a public one either, if you fear being attacked along with me. But only one of you came forward and offered help if I needed it.

And that brings me to the one and only silver-lining to this situation. Yes, there is one. That one is that one person on the floor came to my room, gave me a heads up that this had been spread around, and told me to let him know if anybody gave me any grief. I don't anticipate any, but it was good to know someone was on my side, and I greatly appreciate the kind words, which won't be soon forgotten.

I feel torn. Torn between two characters on my favorite television show, House. I want to be House. Arrogant, brilliant, crippled mentally: the ABCs of Awesome. He does what he wants, acts as he wishes, says what he thinks. People continue to stick by him although not always understanding him. Yet, I am not most like House. I am Wilson. I try to let things go. I let people walk all over me, burying feelings of contempt under a laid back, carefree facade in order to avoid confrontation for as long as possible. And then, when I finally break and let something out and say how I feel, I am attacked and immediately made to feel inferior and less than what I am.

Yes, I suppose I am inferior. I am inferior to my floor mates. But not in the way that they all feel. I don't kick people while they're down, and believe me, I'm down.

This reminds me of a quote I heard earlier today: "The great Socrates once said, 'even ants will kick an elephant while it is down.'" Anyone know who was quoted as saying that? It was the ever-inspiring Shaquille O'Neal. It seems that this quote is particularly relevant to the current situation. I am the elephant. I am down. I am being kicked. And I will get back up. I will prevail, because in the long run, the kicks are still only coming from ants. What permanent damage can an ant really do to an elephant?

-IW

Serenity Now!

I just typed an entire post, about twice as long as my normal posts, and when I hit published it took me to the OSU Wireless Authentification Page so that I could put in password to prove that I'm allowed to be on the OSU Wireless Network. Needless to say it erased the entire post ... Why am I not surprised?

I guess I'll give recreation a shot, but my heart really isn't in it anymore ...

I was on my way to bed last night when I felt it: number 13 lodging itself in my right ureter... Ugh, i'm tired, it's just not gonna happen ... sorry.

Long story short: Roommate's friend vomitted all over my futon and the floor in our room. Roommate said he would scrub dried in vomit out of the futon early this morning. At ten o'clock tonight he finally did it, but only because I pestered him. So I'm the bad guy who "really needs to just chill" and "relax" because roommate doesn't "know what [I] want [him] to do about it now." I wanted him to clean his friend's partially digested dinner from my futon.

The post was really long and intricate and amazing. I'm really disappointed.

One line I remember: My Farrell relatives wonder why I never embraced alcohol as a lifestyle choice. Is it really so hard to understand? Besides my lack of ability to adequately digest the substance, it has the ability to turn even the most intelligent people into blithering idiot's who vomit on their friend's roommate's furniture.

I can't tell you how disappointed I am that my first post was deleted ... It hurts almost as much as it does to go to the movies alone, which I did today to see Watchmen...

Go Zips -IW

What Has Two Thumbs and is Ready to be a Zip?

Watchmen came out today. It looks so cool and is supposed to be really good. Yesterday a kid who lives across the hall from me asked if I wanted to go see it tonight with him and a couple other kids on the floor, to which I replied, "Definitely." After class today, they were nowhere to be found. Until around 7, when I asked, "hey are we still going to see Watchmen tonight?" They said that they were instead going to go to some party somewhere and get trashed. Okay, fine. I'll stay in and watch the Cavs v. Celtics game. At halftime, I went to do some things that everybody does but is particularly important to someone with short-gut ... I'll leave it at that. But while in there, they congregated in the hall, and one said, "Are you guys ready for Watchmen?!" And they all left to go to the movie ... successfully ditching the plague that is me, I suppose.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this. This never happened to me at Walsh; I never did it to anyone else at Walsh. Want proof? Senior year, our homecoming group was made up of 12 guys and 18 girls. 30 people in a group. Most were between 10 and 16 because people started to get the "Exclusivity Itch." I guess I'm falling victim to that itch here, now. But I don't know how to combat it ...

So once again I sat in my room alone tonight, watched the Cavs get trashed by the C's, and started to watch Fight Club online. It's been 72 minutes, so now I have to wait a half hour before continuing the movie.

Roommate has a friend here this weekend, too. Which means the futon will be occupied through all hours of the day as well. So I'll be exiled from the room while some bum sleeps the day away.

Maybe I'll go see Watchmen ... alone. -IW

Distraction from a Full Bladder

So here's what's going on right now. I am sitting in my chair, laptop on, watching the end of the Spurs v. Mavericks game, waiting for Letterman to start. Two girls are in the room ... on Roommate's laptop ... going through his music library song by song for no apparent reason. Roommate is somewhere else doing God only knows what. When a song comes on that the girls "love because it's the greatest song eva," they begin to sing along with the lyrics. This would normally only be mildly annoying, but this is not normally. These are the two trashiest girls I have ever had the misfortune of encountering. Between the two, they have two nose rings, two belly-button rings, one tattoo, and one eyebrow ring. The songs they are singing along to are not the songs you would expect. They are not singing the soundtrack to Titanic or some other film with ballads long-ago memorized by the females of my generation. I would be mortified if someone I know and love sang along to these songs (i.e. Michelle ... so don't do it Shellster). I'm embarrassed for these girls, and all I really know about them stems from their nickname, which I will not say on the blog. But it's the B4-Blanks. Blanks rhymes with 4. B4 signifies that they live on the fourth floor of Bradley, and Blanks signifies ... well, I'm sure you can tell what that signifies. They have their nickname proudly postered on the door to their room. Blanks ...

And so I'm stuck in here. I really have to pee. But I can't pee, can I? That would require leaving the room to walk down the hall, leaving these Blanks alone in my room to do whatever they wish. I suppose I will have to hold it for what will hopefully prove to be a short time span. I hope I can relieve said pressure before Jimmy Fallon comes on ... in 45 minutes. We will see.

I'm going to suggest a few things for all of you Wondeaders out there. The first is to read Rick Reilly's article this week. Go to http://www.espn.com/ and scroll down a bit until you see "The Life of Reilly" link in the middle of the page. It tells of how he got tickets to something like 14 sporting events for just $100 by going to various discount ticket websites such as StubHub and such. I may be visiting a few of these sights this summer for entertainment purposes (Aerosmith? Terrace Club Passes?).

My second and final suggestion has to do with another aspect of the entertainment industry and another way to avoid stimulating the economy (I say let other people do it while I sit on my savings accrued over a year of bagging groceries). The website is movie6.net and it is the greatest thing since sliced bread. Nay, the greatest thing since unsliced bread. That's right. It has links to view movies for free. Not just old movies either. Movies that are currently in theaters. Yea. Over the past weekend alone, I watched Slumdog Millionaire, Gran Torino, Office Space, and Sin City. The first two are still in theaters. The second two are classics that I had yet to see. Their list of available movies is extremely extensive and some of the links are through yahoo! and such (so it isn't illegal). The site also has various television series available for your viewing pleasure. I plan on visiting this weekend when Watchmen comes out to see if it is available. (I was just made aware of this site so I don't yet know how the time frame works with newly released movies).

So I watched Slumdog Millionaire (winner of the Best Picture award, and all the others too; it was decent) and Gran Torino (starring Clint Eastwood; it was AWESOME!) for free this weekend. If I hadn't known about this site and went to see these movies in theaters on Friday and Saturday nights, just getting in would have cost $18. Plus the cost of a drink and perhaps a small popcorn (probably a total of 7 or 8 dollars). So this site saved me at least $25. Plus the cost of renting the other two movies ($2.50 each at best). So for one weekend it saved me $30.

Definitely check it out. -IW

Blanks still here; bladder still full ... Awesome.

S.W.E.A.T.S., O.R.A.N.G.E. S.O.D.A., & Pulling the Plug

In the last two weeks I have started doing something that I have not done since 6th-ish grade: I have worn sweats to class. Let me tell you, it is glorious! And I believe this leads me to another acronym (my apologies for previously referring to these as anagrams): So Wearable, Even All the Time, Son! Indeed, all the time.

I finally had another orange soda today: diet Sunkist. It cost me $1.49, but it was just as glorious as wearing sweats to class. My Kelesque thirst has for now been quenched. For clarity, Kelesque refers to the 1990s Nickelodeon show: Kenan and Kel. Kel (played by Kel Mitchell) had an undying love for orange flavored carbonated beverages. And this leads me to my second acronym of the day: Only Really A Nectar of Glorious Ecstasy providing Satisfaction Opposite that of Dying Alone. I think that's my best one so far.

So now down to brass tax. Since I was a young'n, I've watched the scarlet and gray play football every Saturday in the fall. I picked the Buckeyes to win the first NCAA March Madness pool I ever entered. I bought an Ohio State hat on the way to my cousin P.J.'s wedding so that I could wear it after the ceremony, while watching the Ohio State v. Texas football game that night at the reception. I have an Eddie George Bobble head of him in a Buckeye uniform standing over the Horse Shoe. In my life-predicting project thing in seventh grade, I predicted a degree from The Ohio State University. When I buy my first family pooch, I've recently decided to get a mostly white pup so that I can call him Whitey Hayes (maybe, haha). I have always dreamt of graduating from Ohio State, and it seemed that that dream would become a reality.

Unfortunately though, my first year of college hasn't exactly gone according to plan, and my dream of a scarlet and gray graduation gown has been on life-support the last few months. This past week, after learning that I was eliminated from RA eligibility, I believe I have made the decision to pull the plug on my dream and let it drift away as peacefully as possible.

I love Ohio State. The campus is more beautiful than I could ever have hoped for. I couldn't be more excited for the new student union to open next year. And the extensive list of alumni make it exactly what someone needs in an economy that makes finding a job difficult. But there are too many things that outweigh these positives. I don't have any real friends or a social life of any kind. I sit in my dorm room and watch TV seven nights a week, no joke. I try to make friends and make plans, but their favorite things to do are go get drunk (which I can't do), go get pizza (which I can't do), and go lift weights, swim, and take a dip in the hot tubs (which I won't do due to ugly scars and a weight equal to that of most seventh graders). Plus, when every other week I am laid out with a kidney stone (I passed number 12 yesterday and today) and every other day I have an awful stomachache from the inadequate campus dining choices, how am I supposed to have any sort of social life? How are people supposed to like me when I am in pain every single day that they can't comprehend (a la Gregory House)?

I am going to take a page out of every MLB free agent ever and say: I have to do what is best for me and my family. Unfortunately, my decision involves moving in with my parents and paying thousands of dollars for an education at a different university and not playing baseball everyday for a seven-figure salary, which believe me would be my first choice if it were available.

I have not told anyone here of my decision yet and probably won't for a few weeks, but I have told many of my friends who attend either Akron U or Kent State (my two choices), and each of them has told me how excited they are that I will be back home and hope that I choose their respective schools. A kid I worked with at Acme (A Critical Mind Eraser - Boom, number 3) told me he doesn't know how I've made it this long. He commutes to Akron, eats lunch there four or five times a week, and says he is about to lose his mind thinking of eating there again. He even mentioned how he has a full diet, unlike me. Can you imagine how refreshing it was for someone to say something empathetic without any probing or family relations? I would have shaken his hand and gave him a strong shoulder pat had I not been talking to him on Facebook.

I don't know yet where I will end up, but I am almost certain I won't be returning to northern Columbus next fall as a student. As difficult as it is to give up on a lifelong dream, I know it is what I have to do. When I thought about having to come back for another year, I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders, but when I think about living with my parents, sister, and pup and eating real food every night again and having a car again and perhaps a social life again, I couldn't be lighter.

That is all for now, Wondeaders. With a pep in my step, I am off to grab some mediocre General Tso's Chicken and rice from Market Place for the first time in two whole nights...

Sincerely yours,

The Intestineless Wonder, current Buckeye, future Zip/Golden Flash