On the Accumulation of Spittle -or- Why I Finally Understand Roger Anderson's Most Famous Question (ask me later)

My buffoonery amazes me. I am never more surprised than when I’ve caught myself doing something remarkably stupid. Here’s a common scenario:
After completing my morning routine on autopilot, I look up only to realize that I am on the road to someplace other than where I am trying to go. First; “What the hell? Where am I?” Second (and usually along similar lines of self-depreciation), “Dumbass.” (As a matter of honesty, the language in my mind is usually colored in such a way as illustrated above, sprinkled with slight profanity and confusion. At some point, I wish to address my laundry list of excuses and unfair reasons as to why this is. Not now, but someday real soon when I’m feelin’ gutsy.)

I’m at a loss to explain these instances of confusion. Sure, there are psychological explanations out there, but who the hell wants to read psychological explanations as to why they are huge dumbasses at a time like that?

The really scary thing about it is this: I’m pretty sure that my life right now is in a prolonged version of this same state. As things are slowing down and coming to a close in my internship, I’ve finally had an opportunity to take a look around at where I am. I sat last night contemplating this. Against my will, my brow furrowed and my jaw dropped (so quickly that an accumulation of spittle, if not purposefully rescued from the corner of my mouth, could have become straight-up drool; which would be more problematic seeing as confused, awe-infused drool is the worst kind of drool. As soon as I could regain control of my facial features (an obvious act of free will) the familiar internal dialogue popped off; “What the hell? Where am I?”

Not too long ago I was a proud high school graduate (non-GED track) making moves to ensure my higher education. I look up and I’ve got another one of these goofy-ass, cardboard-topped hats to wear in a few weeks. “What? When the…?” I look around and see that I’m going to something called “graduate school” (which is a little bit oxymoronic), in order to obtain a hood to go with my goofy-ass cardboard hat. How did this happen? What autopilot was in operation to get me into this mess? Now I have to find a job, and start being a single, twenty-something rather than a carefree, college-sort (of the non-fraternal variety).

What do you do in these places? These, “what the hell/where am I/how did I get here” places? I'm trying to be fully here, but it is complicated when I'm not really sure where "here" is. I guess I'll just just move around with a head full of question marks and curse words, with a furrowed brow and a mouth open, dangerously accumulating spittle. Please let me know if you know where I'm at or if my spittle over-accumulates and turns into awe-infused drool. I am a dignified, soon-to-be college graduate who wears cardboard hats and black moomoos, I don't like being made a fool of by a little drool.