And the End has Come

Well, that's it folks. I'm out of music. I hated it so now I'm done. I'm being an English major for a year which sort of blows my ass but hopefully I'll get into concurrent education at York next year. I'm actually kind of stoked. I'd love to teach art. I can seriously see myself as that weird art teacher, like Mr. Parkes, also known to some as Juan the Spaniard. Only I wouldn't ask my students to sit on my lap when they are dressed ... well,lets say "less than wholesome". (Oh mr. Parkes you're too much.) I don't know where else I'd apply. I just hope I didn't fuck myself over with this year. Oh well, maybe I'll take a year to find myself.

I find myself worrying about the most trivial and stupid things, such as health insurance, when I think about taking a year off. I wish I could just do what I want. I always thought I was too immature to be nineteen. Now, it seems like I'm worrying about things that NO ONE my age worries about. "Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance...Choose life. But why would I want to do a thing like that." Sometimes I wish I had the balls to choose junk. I just don't have enough guts. I need a smoke.