If you were planning to read this, don't bother

This is ridiculous.
Im paying way too much for my Master’s Degree at a bullshit school, that’s supposed to be predominantly online, and I cant use my computer?! WTF?
I don’t get it.
If Im completing my assignments and paying for the course, I should be allowed to choose whether or not I pay attention. Plus, just because you take away my computer usage, doesn’t mean Im paying attention.
This.is.bullshit.
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I cant move quickly enough, and you’re right on my heels.
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What happens when you’ve won the race? What then? I guess it is this.
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“Oh, I thought we didn't have to; I thought this was so big I could say whatever I meant. I guess you can't, ever. I guess there isn't ever anything big enough for that."
— Dorothy Parker
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Why cant there be more ties?
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I like creamy peanut butter, and more peanut butter than jelly.
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"These days I just can't seem to say what I mean,' she said. 'I just can't. Every time I try to say something, it misses the point. Either that or I end up saying the opposite of what I mean. The more I try to get it right the more mixed up it gets. Sometimes I can't even remember what I was trying to say in the first place. It's like my body's split in two and one of me is chasing the other me around a big pillar. We're running circles around it. The other me has the right words, but I can never catch her...Do you know what I'm trying to say?' 'Everybody has that kind of feeling sometimes,' I said. 'You can't express yourself the way you want to, and it annoys you.' Obviously this wasn't what she wanted to hear."
— Haruki Murakami
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She reminds me of Mrs. Doubtfire. But not nearly as cool.
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The student’s don’t know what’s going on, and neither do the teachers.
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"Perhaps it's true that things can change in a day. That a few dozen hours can affect the outcome of whole lifetimes. And that when they do, those few dozen hours, like the salvaged remains of a burned house---the charred clock, the singed photograph, the scorched furniture---must be resurrected from the ruins and examined. Preserved. Accounted for. Little events, ordinary things, smashed and reconstituted. Imbued with new meaning. Suddenly they become the bleached bones of a story."
— Arundhati Roy (The God of Small Things)
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I feel very unsettled inside.
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This is causing me an emotional disturbance. How appropriate.
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Things I can’t stand: olives, guys who walk with their arms out because they seem to think they cant walk normally because “their muscles are too big”, when women dress like strippers at the gym, feeling unsettled, when people wear sunglasses indoors or at night.
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I would submerge myself in a pool of pudding.
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More than I can explain, too much, too little. Nothing makes sense, and yet everything does.
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The inspirational shit is just not doing it for me tonight.
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Words are the world and so is silence. They constitute everything. Intentionally or unintentionally, used wrongly, the hurt they cause, the damage they do often becomes unimaginable. When they are genuine, nothing makes more sense.
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Aggravation manifests itself into me chewing on my lip.
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"He walked on water. Perhaps. But could he have *swum* on land? In matching knickers and dark glasses? With his Fountain in a Love-in-Tokyo? In pointy shoes and a puff? Would he have had the imagination?"
— Arundhati Roy (The God of Small Things)
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There is one song that I remember from First Grade Sing-Along:
The sun is a mass of incandescent gas, a giant nuclear furnace
Where hydrogen is built into helium at temperatures or millions of degrees
Whoa-ho it’s hot, the sun is not, a place where we could live
Without a doubt there’d be no life without the light it gives.
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I’m unfolding.
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It was supposed to be a four star day. I call bullshit.
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Michaela is sketching on a Styrofoam cup.
See, there are many ways to remain inattentive.
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"...for a girl with eyes like hers has a will, and is not ruled by anyone but a lover."
— Louisa May Alcott
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I need to go to bed and start over tomorrow.