Everytime I register for classes I want to bash someones brain in with a claw hammer.
I can’t handle this shit, I tell you. ‘A pile of pants’ doesn’t even begin to describe the brevity of crap I have to deal with in order to stay in this achidemic pergatory another few years. I’ll describe the event that makes everyone who was ever a college student shudder at the mere word, ‘registration’.
Start out with the exponential expanse that seems to crop up everytime you talk to a spirit crushing, lost soul, of a counselor who tells you “blah blah blah you need to talk to someone else” and that someone else is always across the college, and you find out how large the college is. But don’t worry, the funs not over, because when you get to the other ‘somoneone’ they like to say, “mmma muwwwa mwwahh someone else” and off you go again. You will loose 20 pounds or die of exasution before this is all over, trust me. But the real pain comes in when you listen to the inaudible mumbling and find out what they are really saying is, “yeah, I know you took those classes a while ago, but under the new system they don’t count for anything, bummer”. And the exodus continues. You know the saying, two steps forward one step back. I swear this feels like two steps forward and two steps back. That’s it, the achidemic waltz that keeps people in limbo for the third decade of their life.