The Art Of Quitting

Over the last four days, I have come to an important decision. I quit.
I'm not exactly sure what I am quitting, or what 'quitting' entails. The thought crossed my mind to quit school, that being the most obvious choice, which would involve returning my textbooks and dropping my classes. I also contemplated quitting my job at the Religious Science church, even though doing so would permanently hex my parking space juju. I can function perfectly well in school and get good grades on assignments, but the only things that I feel truly motivated to do are learn songs that are too difficult for me to play on the piano, build some form of log cabin for myself in the Appalachian Mountains (by the way, Aaron Copland is the worst famous composer to ever walk the face of the earth: he is credited with starting the Americana subgenre of classical music, which led to paintings of roosters and teakettles and Charles Wysocki jigsaw puzzles), and possibly create a new language that I would use when conversing with myself in aforementioned log cabin.

There isn't anything concrete for me to quit. There should just be a room somewhere, where I could carry all of my books and time into and throw them in a pile on the floor, and simply state to the nice-looking young man in a business suit, "I Quit now."

Quitting in general is a refreshing emotion. Even mentally quitting something that you're still physically involved with, like a university literature class that makes you read F. Scott Fitzgerald, is refreshing.