Ants In My Pants

A persistent theme of my post-undergraduate life is this: I should go back to school! I'm smart. I'm wasting my essay writing skills. In the real world, no one gives a rat's ass about essay writing skills. Nobody cares if I know algebra. Back in school they told me I'd be grateful for algebra. Then I should write a thank you note. Dear Algebra, thanks for not being Calculus. Love, Me.

College wasn't depressing and lonely. No, it was full of cheer and glee. I never fell asleep fully clothed with the lights on surrounded by soda cans and textbooks. Never. There were no thirty page psychology research papers or senior honors projects. It was a party 24/7. Maybe even 48/14. That's how good the good times were.

Finally I convince myself I'm not the graduate type. That is to say, I'm poor.

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It's ant season and I can't quit scratching. They're everywhere.

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Repeating back an address to a customer I said, "A as in apple." After a beat he said, "Did you just say A as in asshole?" Pause, both ends. I laugh, "No, A as in ..." "Cuz that would've been ballsy." Thankfully, he laughed too. Right before I hung up I considered saying, "asshole" into the phone, just to keep him guessing.