Free-Write: 0150-0235

This is  an ungodly hour made for booty calls, fuckery and debauchery yet here I am, wide awake and doing none of the above. Not that, y’know, I’d be making a booty call or anything like that. The only piece of ass I’m thinkin’ about tappin’ lives a bazillion and four miles away from me, besides all that, I’m not that type of girl and I digress.
I was probably going to neglect this blog for another week or so while I wrote up a couple of posts for the original (Infamous) Life, but seeing as I’m up with nothing to do but search the interwebnets for porn, I’ve decided to be semi-productive and do a quick free-writing exercise.
Woot, whoo-hoo and yay.
Lawd knows what I’m about to say, so, if you’re up to it, hit the jump for more.

There’s this guy—Y’know, the piece of ass I so desperately want to tap? Yeah, I hinted at and about him once already but it bares repeating—and he’s probably the single most annoyingly amazing person that I know. Honestly, he is and I effin’ hate it.
Jerknuts has somehow wormed his way into my heart and now that he’s there? I can’t get him out. What’s sad is I don’t even want him out; I actually kind of like the fact that, on those rare occasions that  I see him, my heart kicks me in the chest whenever he crosses my line of sight. Kind of. Not really. The heart palpations are much like him: annoying at best.
I don’t know man. Somehow and somewhere along the line, he came to mean a lot more to me than he should. Maybe it was because of his voice—I’ve always loved his voice. It may even be those stupid, beautiful and so sad eyes of his. Hell, it’s probably something far beyond the realm of the physical; I dunno. I just know that he somehow became the salt on my apple and the sugar on my strawberries: he just makes (my) life better and he’ll probably never know it because I’ll probably never tell him. I don’t know how. I suppose, of course, that I could just say it the way I did here, slightly random food references and everything, but that just doesn’t seem like it would be enough to get my point across and dammit, I have a point to make.
Or would that be I have a point to get across?
A point to make while trying to get said point across?
Ugh. Moving on before I do something stupidly human like call Darian, knowing that he probably won’t answer because he’s an assholeface but more because I miss him more than I’m willing to say here in the somewhat public domain.
With the semester coming to a close and my typing/tutoring gig coming to a much needed end, I’ve been doing some thinking about whether or not I’ll be attending school in the fall…or at all.
“You’ll never get anywhere in this big ol’ thing called life if you don’t have a degree, Ren! Is that what you want? To be stuck in Lansing for the rest of your life? Do you honestly see yourself becomin’ the third baby-momma of some aintshit son of a bitch that probably finger banged one of your girls on the fourth floor during lunch in high school? Do you?!”
…What, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, shuddup judgin’ me.
No, I don’t wish to become the first, second or third baby-mother of some aintshit SOB that that probably finger fucked one of my more skanky (I have ‘em, and so do you) friends in HS and I’d sooner jump in front of a beanbag gun than stay here in Lansing for the rest of my life, but, since I’m being more or less 100% truthful right now? I don’t think that school’s for me. Well, not the school I’ve been going to at least. I’m sure there are some perfectly lovely colleges and universities out there, I just don’t happen to attend one.
One of the major things I’ve been trying to figure out is what in the he-haw hell am I going to do with my degree once I get it?
Sure, a Bachelor’s in Psychology sounds like it could lead to plenty-a-many promising career choices, but it really doesn’t.
I could become a child-care assistant? And make around $10/hour? Really? I’ve had babysitting gigs that paid me more than that, smh.
The truth of the matter is, there really isn’t much that you can do with a BA in Psych and herein lies the problem, boys and girls.  I don’t plan to spend an extra  3-7 years (of my freakin’ life!)after I graduate from school  back in school trying to earn a damn Ed.D, Psy.. D or Ph. D. With the way the world and economy are now, I won’t be able to find a job, I’ll be bazillions of dollars in debt and that ol’ conniving bitch Sallie Mae will own the soul of my first born child on some Reaper shit. But, on the bright side, I’’ll have a specialized degree I can brag about to any and everyone who’ll listen as I’m forced to wait tables and scrub toilets to support the liquor and chocolate habit my quest for an all important education will inevitably leave me with. Oh. I’ll have some extra letters at the end of my name, too. Just picture it, I’d be L. Elizabeth ________, Ed. D (or Psy. D. or Ph. D.)
Hmm, maybe an education is worth it simply for the fact that I can change hardly used email siggy and sound like a pretentious asshole of a douche. Hmm…sounds slightly appealing.
I am, by the way, being sarcastic. I wouldn’t do that.
I feel like I’d become one of the many fucktardedloserheads that I know that think their advanced degrees in the field of I Have a Masters but No Job make them so much better than those of us who’ve yet to graduate and I can’t have that on my conscience, now can I?


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