The waves of - what next, keep coming - from the halls at school, the coffee shops in town, family members who give hoots about me, and I loudly whisper, E-nough.
If I were to leave all the important parts out, the arguements via e-mail out, I would have to say I am being subjected to taking another class at Pace. I need three more bleeding credits, was my initial thought. And now. I keep pretending that I'm bothered by it -- "I cannot believe Pace is doing this to me! They're assholes aren't they?" In truth, I don't mean an inch of it. I am taking an Acting class and having much fun with it.
One class, that's it? I know this is correct, one class does not eat up my time in an efficient manner. But I have my writing and my socializing. If I could get paid for socializing, I'd be a baller. I wonder if there was a way I could get paid for it? Kidding. Kidding. I am too aware that I must make the money. I'm just really not sure how? Working sounds horrible. I need to somehow skip all of the ass kissing and make it to a big girl job. But, how? How!
Alrighty then, I'm done with that rant. I know hard work pays off. (That statement seems naked without quotation marks.) I realize I need to take a job -- In fact, I'm jonesing for it. I'd like to kick it's ass. Because I am in dire need of kicking something's ass. (This merely means doin it well. Don't furrow that brow.)
In a soon time period I am going to start consuming vitamins, and saying, "I know I can, I know I can." Then, I'll laugh at my own joke, and say, "I'm the girl." Because I really do wake up feeling like P-Diddy.