I really do want to start college classes again, but between all the classes I'm already taking (PDR classes, which count to college credits but are not college classes.) and all the work I'm doing (All Hail The Queen Of Slaves!), and my lack of funding. I highly doubt I'll get to go until June.

And, no, I can't get a grant or a loan, I've been trying for years. I can't, it's a curse. The people at the loan department just slink around in their dark corners with weird white theatrical make-up on, waiting for my fat manila envelope to arrive. Then, when it does, they reach deep into the aquarium swimming to the brim with irregularly folded slips of paper (paper they've been cutting up and writing on since the last time they recieved a letter from me.) and they pluck one out with a cackle, choosing which deliciously cruel and outlandish denial I'll be receving in my mailbox this time. They don't even bother to open up my letter and read my pathetic and snivvling cries for money anymore, they just see it's got my return address on it and play a rousing round of Screw-A-Jamie. What's worse? It's not even the fun kinda screwin'.


Yes, this is pouting. Attractive iddnit?


So, until then, I'm stuck going to a million and a half seminars and workshops. These include the follow up workshop I have today, which has a good 20 pages of homework due for it. Joy. Due at 3:30. Double J-O-Y. Have I done any?


C'mon now, you've been reading my blog for how long? You should know me by now.


......Of course I haven't.


So, here I am, hanging out in someone elses cold house while they're out of town because their printer works (No, I didn't do a B&E, I've got a key. Woo..that rhymed. Graduate me now! I'm a goshdiddlydarn genius!), drawing a layout of a room while wondering where the overview for my philosophy paper went to. Oh, and talking to myself. I swear, if I didn't find it all so darn amusing, I'd be worried.


3 hours and 49 minutes to go.