I woke up in a closet.

Walking dogs won’t pay for a liberal arts degree.
June 24, 2008, 6:51 pm
Filed under: Prattstitutes, Tragedy | Tags: , , , , ,

I’m in the middle of writing an letter of appeal for my financial aid offer to the head of the office. As usual when it comes to money and Pratt, I got really emotional and had to take a break.

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I’ve mostly stopped thinking about the end of the world, but now I’m thinking about prison.  I don’t think it would be that bad to spend a lot of time behind bars.

Pros of prison:

  • No sunlight, No skin cancer.
  • Lots of time to read.
  • Lots of time to write.
  • Lots of time to sleep.
  • Not having to talk to anyone.
  • Sleeping almost whenever.
  • I don’t have to pay taxes.

Cons of Prison

  • No sunlight, broken bones.
  • A shitty job that pays pennies an hour.
  • Terrible prison food.
  • People yelling at me.
  • No one to talk to.
  • No sex.

The more I thought about prison, the more I realized I probably would never be arrested in my lifetime.  Damnit.

There wouldn’t be any responsibilities in prison.

I get stressed out about everyday responsibilities.  But I think I have more of a problem with them than other people do.  Because my worries about responisibilities are just so… odd.  Two weeks ago I had brunch with my sister in Williamsburg.  We walked to an organic food store and she bought me lilacs.  I said goodbye to her in the subway station.  She got on the L, I got on the G at Metroplitan.  I walked far enough down the platform to get where the benches are.  A train must have just come because all of the seats except for one were empty.  I walked to the end of the row and chose the second to last seat.  There was water on this seat, so I had to sit down next to it.  After I sat down, more people with tired legs followed.  The amount of water on the seat wasn’t a lot, but it was enough so that you’d feel it on your pants if you sat on it.  Every time someone had their eye on the seat as they came in my direction, I’d pull my face out of the bouquet of lilacs and say, “That’s wet.”  I said it to three people.  I wanted to get up.  Why didn’t the person next to me say anything?  Why was I the one who had to forewarn people?  After I told them about the wet seat, they probably stood on the platform next to an I-beam thinking, “That bitch doesn’t know that I have arthritis and I should be sitting.  She looks young!”

Just take the responsibility away.

At the end of May, I’ll be finished with my internship at Jezebel.com so I’ll have a little more free time.  Although!  I think I’ve found a replacement internship at A Public Space.