The End. Dang it

My second year of college has ended. Ended. I don't want to go home.

I was always an independent child. When I was fourteen, I told my mother flat out that I was going to go to college, and there was nothing either she or my dad could do to stop me. I have a rather hard head, you see. Well, my fear that they would keep me forever in the middle of nowhere place where I grew up ended up being false. They let me go to college (actually, they were surprised that I had such drive at so young), and they let me pick it, too (another story, and really ironic). I love it here.

I do not want to leave. I do not want to go home, where my summer will be another endless season of despair and jobless-ness (I repeat: the middle of nowhere). I want to create art, among my fellow artists. I shall miss these people, whom I've grown to love so much. We depend on each other, for we feel (if I presume enough to qualify it) the Cry of the Universe, and so we need each other to live through it; the sound of it hurts. I feel like an Ood, where only Ood (and the Doctor... nerd moment, excuse me) can hear the keening. My family is human; I am Ood. What a lovely comparison.

Regardless, this post has been nothing but a sad, selfish rant, but it is true. To all the college kids out there, who enjoy the college lifestyle (and even the homework, sometimes if not regularly), I send this out to you.