Bricks

"What are you going to college for, Derek? I was thinking about it the other day and couldn't figure it out," Drew asked as he slammed down another brick. Goddamn, I'm tired of bricks.
I stammered. What answer could I give? Did I want to confess the deep inadequacy I feel weekly in a suffocating religion that makes me questions the validity of my very existence? Tell them that I could no longer bear the pressure and fled to enroll in a community college rather than suffer it any longer though I fear it shall not offer the great respite I crave? These were men I would tolerate for only a week longer, with varying degrees of tolerance. Occasionally the discussions ventured away from the usual homosexual accusations and innuendo so far to reach into the realms of theology. I hate those. Curtis's mother is a Jehovah's Witness. He says it's a cult. I don't want to talk about mine. I tell them it only specifies hot drinks; it is old. They are befuddled. I try to let it blow over.
I told them what has become my standard answer: I don't know what I want to do with my life and see no point in spending more money than necessary until such time. They seem satisfied. They don't ask questions about missionary ambitions. I am thankful.
Sometimes I want to go. It would be a great experience. A new language, exotic culture. Stuff like that. But how can I serve a church whose tenets, if followed, would have prevented my existence? It's been wracking my brain for sometime now: how can both freewill and fate coexist? One must take precedence! It just doesn't make sense. I can't figure it out. Either my existence is folly, or fornication was preordained. It's late; I'm not sure what I'm saying. I'm conflicted. I seem to be a complicated individual.
I sent a text to a friend who is going somewhere in life. The text was simple: What do you want to be when you grow up?

The answer was simple: Happy.