As a friend of mine recently posted on the sacred Book of Frontal-Head-Parts, we've just finished Stage 5 of College (the Nightmare). (By "we", I mean those cool, hip, suave, ballin' comrades of mine in the great Circle of Shite otherwise known as @#!$%& State University, which I shall refrain from naming to avoid any potential, and completely FALSE, allegations of libel. Or calumny. Or tasteless erotica masquerading as poetry.) That is, we (again, "we" refers to those cool people with whom I drink and laugh and fight to the near-death) only have three semesters left before entering the real world--or, in most of our cases, sidestepping smoothly into the cavernous abyss of limbo known as grad school.
Anyway, this hellish semester being over at last, I took a look at all the creative nonfiction essays I wrote for my workshop, copied and pasted all that shit LIKE A BOSS into a new document, and voila! All I had was about 9,000 words. What in the Hoth? Only 9,000 words? I spent my semester slaving away under the influence of a a powerful stimulant derived from a rare and dangerous South American bean, ignoring all my homework in my two Psychology courses (fuck that learning shit, I just want a cozy office and a cushy counselor's job!), and skipping meals (ok, maybe one meal) just to not even scratch the hairy ass of a 10,000 word minimum output?
Yeesh.
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