I’m cold. The easy answer would be to cover myself up. A blanket. Socks. A coat. Something, maybe even anything. Yeah, well, I would if I had anything more than a plastic cup of water, a backpack, and a laptop I’ve barely let out of my sight since I first purchased it. It’s not entirely by choice, this addiction to my laptop. I say “entirely” because I decided to go “back to school.” I decided that the money I was making wasn’t enough and now I’m staring at word documents and deadlines under fluorescent lights and my nose is running. I think they keep the library cold to keep us from sleeping when we should be writing papers that will be discarded in four months. Graduate school’s a joke, I think sometimes. I know it isn’t, I know it’s about the learning and not the writing, but then, what are deadlines for anyway. And my brother in law tells me that I’m paying for this particular emblem on my degree, and not the education. He says that if I really wanted to learn something I’d pick up a book. I nodded when he said that, finally accepting his words as a revelation I’d been fighting for months already. So I don’t know what’s true anymore. I, like most of the poor saps around me, forgot why I decided to do this the second I had to stay up way too late to write a paper the professor didn’t read. (I know you didn’t read it, dude, because there were three incomplete sentences, and some forgotten words tucked in all that BS I was spouting. I wasn’t testing you, rather, I was failing a test on whether I could do this well or not.) Worse, I keep getting A’s on the crap I’m handing in. Or, maybe he did read it. Maybe he saw through hanging participles and barely grasped principles and thought “if I fail her, she’ll fail” and so he let me pass. After that, I began rereading everything I turned in. I guess I only halfway care if someone reads my paper. Mostly, I care that I write it. And honestly, the debt I’m accruing to sit here and complain is a fraction of what my country is accruing doing the same thing. At least I’m buying something with my debt (even if I don’t quite know what that something is). So who cares if I’m cold (maybe I’m paying for perspective)? Who cares if I get an A I didn’t deserve (besides me I mean, and maybe I’m paying for righteous guilt)?