My roommate has recently been saying that I’ve lost my mind.

What can I say? I am, after all, the average U of C fourth-year.

Maybe it’s the four years in Hyde Park, or the still-non-existent B.A. paper, or the classwork that somehow still isn’t finished, or the excessive drug use.

Yeah, I am on a drug. It’s called Jake Grubman. It’s not available; if you try it once, you will either die, in which case your children will weep over your exploded body (and your roommates will wonder why you already have children at such a young age), or you will grow a fake-looking afro which you will have to repeatedly insist is real.

Let’s be honest. My brain fires in a way that’s maybe not from this particular terrestrial realm or is at least mildly impressive to the general population, even if the rest of my Chinese 402 class is less than enthusiastic. You borrow my brain for five seconds and are like, “Dude, I can’t handle it, unplug this bastard” or “Why do you only think about beagles and bad movie quotes?”

Most of my classmates can’t comprehend the very few comments I do make in discussion, probably because they don’t have tiger blood and Adonis DNA. I mean, my DNA is pretty much the same as most people’s, other than the unique traits that I have on account of my parents (who also have unique DNA), but I really did inject myself with the blood of a tiger once. I later consulted my doctor, since my blood developed a stony consistency.

Perhaps on account of my brain functioning extraterrestrially, my B.A. paper is still in its formative stages. But I’m not interested in people saying that I “won’t graduate” if I “don’t turn in my paper.” I’m interested in the truth, which is that I will finish it eventually, either by closing my eyes and making it so with the power of my mind, or by keeping my eyes open long enough to read a sufficient number of journal articles to formulate a coherent argument on tax increment financing.

I applied for a job a couple of weeks ago, and it didn’t work out. I’m not sure why, having approached the interview with a combination of zeal, focus, and violent hatred. I met the other applicants for the job in the lobby before my interview, and I’m confident that I made them look like droopy-eyed armless children with my epic résumé. Well, at least droopy-eyed. Some of them did seem fairly young, but they all had both arms.

Somehow I wound up not getting the job, even despite the fact that I’m bi-winning. That phrase, of course, fails to encompass all of my life’s victories because, in addition to winning here and winning there, I also win in other places. Fortunately, though, in the face of this setback, I’ve gotten very prepared and focused and driven and hungry and in shape and lower expectations for employment after college and a new tattoo.

It’s funny how sleep rhymes with sheep, you know?

Other than my ongoing war with potential employers, life is perfect. It’s awesome. Every day is just filled with wins. All I do is put wins in the record book. Wins and A-minuses. And some B-pluses and a few Bs. Those, and wins. I would be winning so radically in my underwear before my first cup of coffee if I drank coffee in the morning. Instead, I’m winning in a similarly abstract fashion later in the day, frequently still in my underwear.

After three-plus years of dominating at the University of Chicago, I’ve come to realize that I am, in fact, a bitchin’ rockstar from the suburbs of Chicago. People say it’s lonely at the top, but I sure like the view. Or, I like what I imagine the view to be based on the upward angular shift from my current view from the middle.

Jake Grubman is a fourth-year in the College majoring in Law, Letters, and Society.