>My right index finger is killing me. I have a horrible habit of detailing a nail, making the conclusion that it is too long and then chomping it off, instead of just cutting it with nail clippers like a normal person would do. I blame the rapid growth defect that my nails have, and my impatience. So, I chomped and what I am left with feels like a nub, and not to mention the fact that it bled! I’m so upset with myself. You may ask what this has anything to do with anything, and it has nothing to do with anything.
Rollin’ on. I’d really like to point out the fact that old men are really perverted. As I was dilly dallying around a store yesterday, one of these creepsters followed me around. I ended up saying “WHAT!?!?!” He creeped me out so much that I almost got hit by a car walking out of the store. See, the problem is, is that these old men are oblivious to the fact that there are such things as mase and tasers these days; most importantly, women are not afraid to use them. In fact, it’s probably going to be a rush for most women to put it to use – comparable to runners high – but I would just prefer to judo chop.
While I’m on this roll, I’d like to announce that I’m nervous. I’m nervous because I’m starting to look at what university I want to transfer to. I feel like I’ve been at PHCC for eleventy years now and I’m telling myself to wrap it up already. Since I’m aiming for journalism, I looked at LSU, UF and even USF (my very last option). I looked at Columbia, then my brain had a spasm and a jolt of reality shot through me, so I clicked out of that page. Then I get scared at the fact that I’m possibly no where near the boundary line of being one of those ‘great writers’ and I want to wet my panties. Okay, maybe not that far, but I want to do something extreme because it absolutely scares me. I guess that’s why I have a nub for an index finger at the moment.
In the meantime, I’m at a loss since my school isn’t offering night classes over the summer. Now I’ll feel like a fish without water or a horse without dingle berries. That’s right.
One more thing, Starbucks on Tuesday nights has officially been ruined for me. Apparently, all wiccan’s in the city meet that day, equipped with bongo’s, and they all look strangely familiar. I was brought back to the characters from “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” and no, not Jessica Biel and gang… I’m referring to the family in that white house.