Garbage Man, Garbage Man...

There's a legitimate reason why I am more likely to blog when I am working on essays, and it's really an almost elegantly simple one. Essays are very structured and bounded, written with a particular audience in mind. In order to focus on what I should write, I have to empty the rest of the stuff that is muddling up my head so I can see clear to the other side.

The question I'm supposed to be answering is about my wish to attend Thomas Aquinas College. Do I know the structure and special nature of the program? Do I understand and accept what it means?

The answer I'm not going to give is this one: I have finally reached the point where I almost don't care if I go to any college much less a Great Books one. Every single school that I have been intensely interested in has turned out to be too expensive. Even after $19,000 in scholarships, King's was ridiculous. Biola didn't offer that much and they were even more costly. Thomas More wasn't too bad, but it was still enough that I was unwilling to make the transition. So the reality is, dear admissions folks, that I am tired. I am tired of writing essays about how much I love learning and how much the structure of your program appeals to me. I know exactly what Great Books involves and that's actually why I found you and was even remotely interested in applying. I love it: getting to read all of the originals, discuss them, and write about them - that sounds like holidays all year round. But the reality is that you will probably be too expensive for me. I don't want to write 7-15 pages worth of bs about how awesome you are because you're not original. You're just Plan J and you're asking a lot of me right now and I don't have a single creative way to say all of the same tired sentiments that I've been saying on the other eight + one applications that I have submitted.

Dear college education: you shouldn't be cheapened like this. But now you're selling yourself to the highest bidder like a pricey call girl, and that's not what I wanted. I want true love, and all you're offering is sex. I want our time together to lead me to higher planes of thought and perception, but all I'm left with is an aftertaste of bitter disappointment and the vague sensation of mental exhaustion. I never intended to treat you like you could be my salvation, but you were the logical next step and now I've tripped and fallen down the stairs. So where does that leave us?

I'm not sure. But I don't think this is going to help me write my essay.

Sorry for the melodrama. It has been a long day, and ChickfilA doesn't deliver.

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