and new pens
and other supplies used to make me sublimely happy. Even if only for the first few weeks of school -- until the normal bitching began.This year, as I prepare for my second year of college (even armed with cute new Harajuku Lovers
school supplies), I couldn't possibly dread anything more. I can't even quite tell you why.I do know that I wish I was done already; that I wish I was living my life outside the realm of classes. I hate that I have to pay to subject myself to the whims and fancies of professors. I'd rather be subjecting myself to the whims and fancies of a boss and getting paid for it.
Perhaps my apathy toward school is also wrapped up in my recent failure to snag a rad internship or other writing-related gig. I recently took a fact checking test at Philadelphia Weekly, where I've been dying to intern since I met contributor (and beloved professor whose magazine writing class I didn't get into) George Miller in July 2008, only to be told there wasn't room for me this semester. There was no room for my proposed column on affordable living while in college for The Temple News' Living section. Oh, and the status of my application to be a writing tutor at Temple's Writing Center is up in the air.
As the handwriting analysis guy told me on campus on Friday, I'm feel frustrated and am only 75-85% of the way to reaching my goals. Which is pretty outrageous and annoying when I put in a thousand and 1 % effort.
And the one thing that's going well -- my relationship with Chris -- is being put under pressure from all sides.
I'm under pressure from all sides.
And I really don't want to have to worry about what other people -- except possible employers -- think of me. If only I had some marginal journalistic achievement to help me feel like I do in fact know what I'm doing and that even though this is slow and painful, I'm headed in the right direction.
Gah. I kind of just want to SCREAM!
