Obviously, I've been having a crisis of conscious as of late. Now, notice I said 'conscious' and not 'conscience'. I'm talking about something completely different than the miniature angel that sits on your right shoulder and whispers in your ear telling you to Do The Right Thing and the like. That's your 'conscience'. My crisis involves 'consciousness'. You know, the state of being awake and thinking constantly that you have no fucking clue what you're doing and that you only want one of three things to happen- either A) you get run over by a large bus B) you get run over by a large bus that is traveling to the mental hospital and the bus stops and the driver peels you off the asphalt and takes you along or C) you get run over by a large bus that is traveling to the mental hospital and the bus stops and the driver peels you off the asphalt and takes you along and when you wake up you realize that the bus was traveling to a mental hospital in Miami and you realize that someone really hot like, oh, let's say Joaquin Phoenix, has suddenly gone crazy as well and is your roommate and the doctors have prescribed a lot of mutual massage therapy between you and your hot roommate and you are allowed to sit on the oceanview veranda to take your pills with fruity frozen drinks, as your hot roommate sits by your side and sings mushy songs like "Unchained Melody" because that is a symptom of his craziness.

So, my point is, it is unwise to decide on July 20 that you want to attend classes on August 20 at a university that is slightly far away. It causes undue amounts of stress and puts certain Mangofarmers in grave danger of Chickening Out. Because that's just what Mangofarmers do.

But I called my sister earlier, and she called me a "sheltered infintesimal (sp?) gelatinous mass that has been living under a rock all her your short life because you were obviously born yesterday", in a most encouraging way, and I feel slightly better. But then there is that large quantity of Holy Shit (not just any old Shit, this Shit has been sent, and blessed by, the hand(s) of God/Buddha/Allah/Mother Nature/R2D2/Bill Clinton/Ben & Jerry) hanging over my head. Shit happens, and it stinks, and I'm really starting to notice this pungent odor. And the only one to offer me a clothespin for my nose is the aforementioned younger sibling.

I don't know what to think about that.

Anyway, hello, my name is Mangofarmer and I like to worry. Tell me I'm going to find a job/assistantship/corner to sell crack/pot/sex/friendship bracelets on. Please? Because I'd tell you the balance in my checking account, but you'd laugh at me if I thought I was going to make it even a month on that. I mean it's a healthy amount, but my reckless spending of the past is currently gnawing on my posterior region. Akshjdksjdkjqkiklnflk.

Gah gah gah. Buuuuuut (slightly different subject), if I do actually play at this wedding on the 23th like I'm supposed to, flying back here for it of course, that would mean a layover in Chicago on my birthday (at ass o' clock in the morning, but still). I've never been to Chicago. I've always wanted to go to Chicago. Maybe Ferris Bueller would be hanging out at the O'Hare Airport (insert convienient fast foodish kind of breakfast place here) on my birthday, right? Because it's MY birthday?

So that would all mean I would have to be in Grad Schoolville to even be thinking about flying BACK to Grad Schoolville and stopping in Chicago to meet Ferris Bueller. Right?

But plane tickets cost money. And my current financial situation is iffy. So when exactly will my loan money go through? I need help. Serious help.

I'm going to go look for a Miami-bound bus now. Have a great night. :)

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