Apropos of Apprehension

I am full of anxiety and preemptive nostalgia. Unless I can somehow finagle another semester out of college, I'll be done this December. I don't want to be done. I would much rather spend my time reading and writing than working for the man. I hate the man. He wants to make me do stuff I don't wanna. I know I am going to miss my friends, my professors, and my schedule. Getting up at 6:30 or something sucks. Getting dressed at 6:30 sucks even more, especially when it's "professional attire," or "business casual," or some crap like that. And I know that Casual Fridays are a joke. Does the man say, "Aw, you don't need a bra. And flip flops and cut-offs are cool"? No! Unless he's a freaking pervert, and far be it from me to deal with that kind of crap. I only subject others to such a thing, not the other way around. So in the interest of self-health (ha!), I believe I shall take a couple of years off to learn to paint and draw, play guitar and piano, rock climb, and become a general dilettante in all things which will earn me nothing but pleasure. I plan to finance this undertaking with lottery winnings and envelope-stuffing. You should be so clever.