So, for all of my dramatic complaints and melancholy T.S. Eliot quotes, I really would sacrifice a small child for the opportunity to go to NYU. However, for monetary reasons that were since unrevealed to me, only brought to light in a fit of passion, rage, and sorrow, I am confined to the dreary depths of the University of Miami, a school tramautically unfit for my level of intelligence and skill and, more awful still, requires that I must reside at home with my parents.

Dark were the days that followed this announcement. Dark are the days still.

My horror and despair were tantamount to that of Count Almasy in The English Patient as he carried Katherine into the cave of the swimmers, the music rising tragically in the background. I must, however, remind myself that I could still whore myself to a wealthy sophmore, or use my bleak future to inspire the next great but hopelessly unnapprecitaed novel that will be resurrected to greatness after my early death.

Alas, that I should live to see such times. And the true shadow, the blackness that casts itself like a cloak over my shoulders, is the very end of any party life or intellectual amusements before college has even begun.

My life is, and is yet to be, as helplessly gray as a Gothic novel.