Just keep chugging

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be allowed to make (and follow) my own schedule. Who says class has to start at 9:25a.m.? Who says I have to go? This is the thought I had walking to class this morning. Listen, I really don't like it when other people, or in this case institutions, tell me what to do. Why do you, College, get to plan my week for me? Did I give you permission to do that? Oooh yeah, I did. In fact, I'm paying you to do it.

But wait, doesn't that mean that I should have some sort of say in how this whole diploma track pans out? Yes, it's called registration. So maybe it's not the fact that school takes up so much of my time, or the fact that I cannot go to class just whenever I want to. It's the expectations that I defy. Defy? Who am I kidding? I live every day trying to meet some sort of expectation. As much as I wanted to pull back on my walk to class today, turn around and head home and say, "Enough of letting others make decisions for me," I kept on going. Like a child screaming in front of the Novelties frozen food section, threatening Mom that I would run away from home forever if she did not "put the Klondike Baws in the cawt WIGHT NOW!" I was pulled away from immediate satisfaction of the coffee I didn't have time to enjoy this morning, and the New York Times that missed my reading, and instead reeled into the academic realm that I'm told is a means to an end. What end? Well, that's where we are finally allowed to make our own decision. I can choose the ending.

Note: Mom has confirmed that I never screamed or fought her for a food of my choice in the grocery store. I never had to because I stole it. It was so liberating. Maybe that's why she started to use the leash.