My peers repulse me. I’m spending my first week alone in Austin, Texas. I’ll be attending the University of Texas in the fall. I’m living in student-centric housing and, tonight, two stories above a lovely gathering of self-obsessed, delusional large children. They talk too loud, drink too much, know too little and yet I envy them. They are seemingly happy with this life. Surely I have a higher grade point average then any of them and probably more potential for success, but I’m also barely able to leave my room, let alone my shared apartment. They have meaningless, hyperbolic conversations about cellphones and old video games. I hate them. They have some of the worst qualities any person can have, but they also have something I don’t: confidence. They’re able to speak and have conversations without fear of judgment; whatever diarrhea of a thought they have just spills out their mouths without concern or anxiety. I want them to shut up so I can sleep, but they’re inspiring me to write. They are a necessary evil in my life, the indulgent college morons. Often times the thought of one with no concept for a purposeful life stirred in me nothing but anger. But what if the purposeless person’s purpose is to have no purpose? Their existence is meant to motivate those like me to fulfill that which we feel is our purpose. Chug, they chant, chug! Dear God, I can’t end up like that. I won’t let me.