Its been quite a while since I posted the last entry in this blog which details random events in my life I deem worthy enough to write about online. Many of the previous posts mark moments of my past two semesters in Manhattan College, many of which were quite negative or pessimistic. My goal for the past year, basically, has been to get out of this place, and into a college such as Pace University. They offer a Film and Screen Studies degree. Something which my school does not. They way I see it, Agent Smith is reading my file, and telling me that “one of these lives has a future. And one of them does not.” How right he is. I think.
Anyway, the point is, I have been accepted into Pace, I believe. I say ‘I believe’ since the letter they sent me was so surprisingly strange and unexpected, that I’m still not 100 percent sure. If I read that piece of paper correctly, and, this is not a very hard thing to do, then what they are claiming is that I AM accepted, and that they want to give ME 9,000 dollars toward tuition. I feel like an overnight celebrity or something, because Yes I kind of worked for this, but its TOO much and unexpected. Oh well. I guess my karma is good, and I Do deserve this. Thank you, Universe.
This past weekend was quite dreadful, I must say. I mean, friends were plentiful, and the amenities available through them and by them made sitting on a couch pretty adventurous. However, this has been done before, and way too often. I need to go out on the town in a fit of energetic craziness or something, but then again, America, not 21, Bla Bla Bla.
Anyway, I arrived at my brother’s cottage on Friday, at the onset of the evening. I proceeded to get drunk with determined efficiency I rarely put into action for anything else. All of a sudden, it was Sunday afternoon, and I had to go back to Manhattan College, to reality, without music (my ipod broke), or silly weekend happiness.
It is now monday morning, and I have already taken a test. My bed looks sexy and alluring, and I want to go jump its bones and sleep with it. But I cant. Its like Roots of Art is my mistress, and I must attend to her before I could even throw in a quickie with my bed. I guess I spent all this time writing, instead of napping.
