Money is the monster of my dreams
Glassboro is a down-home country farmer's wet dream. It's full of those annoying rolling green hills and gives the appearances of looking like it just got spewed out of Swell-Land when really it's anything but. Days I dream about food and having lots of money, nights I wish I were in places like San Francisco gaping at the Golden Gate or cruising through the streets of Upper West Manhattan. But I'm stuck here in the farmer's wet dream, resulting from lack of funds and gas. These kids that walk around, oh-so-sad in their rich-kid way, so utterly depressed while their mommys and daddys pay for everything, for the horrible designer sweaters they wear, for the brand-new Eclipses they drive, for the white silk linen they use to wipe their fucking asses, they make me want to puke. I want to get them all in a big room and let them know exactly what I think of their pathetically over-privileged lives.
I won't email my parents and ask them to help me out. A) Because I doubt they would, B) because I have too much pride. I cannot and will not ask for help. My pride is what's keeping me going and it's what makes me forget that there's hunger pangs in my stomach. Although I must say, the hunger pangs are sort of romantic in a way. They really give me that poor-college-kid quality.
The sad reality of it is, I may have to withdraw from this stupid photography class. It just costs way too much money. Money that I don't and never will have. Film, photographic paper, etc. I have to shoot a new roll of film every week. I can't afford that. Maybe if I had a daddy like Dave's, who buys him everything, I could. But I don't. So it looks like I may only be taking four classes this semester, it's all I can afford. It's a shame, too, because I really wanted to take this damn photography class.
I won't email my parents and ask them to help me out. A) Because I doubt they would, B) because I have too much pride. I cannot and will not ask for help. My pride is what's keeping me going and it's what makes me forget that there's hunger pangs in my stomach. Although I must say, the hunger pangs are sort of romantic in a way. They really give me that poor-college-kid quality.
The sad reality of it is, I may have to withdraw from this stupid photography class. It just costs way too much money. Money that I don't and never will have. Film, photographic paper, etc. I have to shoot a new roll of film every week. I can't afford that. Maybe if I had a daddy like Dave's, who buys him everything, I could. But I don't. So it looks like I may only be taking four classes this semester, it's all I can afford. It's a shame, too, because I really wanted to take this damn photography class.