With only four weeks left in the semester (OMG!), I have realized that I may not have learned a whole lot of things that are completely necessary to my future well-being (Von Thunen Model, anyone?), but I have learned one thing: English classes are the devil.

I’m not saying that because I’m bitter (even though I am a little bit). I’m saying that because, oh yeah, I’m going to be writing essays for a living after I graduate. Because people spend four years of their life learning to craft the perfect essay in order to find a deeper meaning in the first couple stanzas of Ginsberg’s Howl. No people, let’s be realistic here. The man was high, and in order to enjoy a poem of his you must be high, and in order for someone to even being to want to read literary criticism on a poem of his, that someone must be high. The point here is this: I read it and I like it, or I read it and I don’t like it, but I’m not all that compelled to read an essay that someone wrote about it.

Okay, instance number two. Picture me, giving a presentation about my company to a group of investors.

“And thus concludes why Company X can be related to the short story ‘The School’.”

“Are you on crack?”

See what I mean?

So, after next semester is over, I vow to never write another essay. I’m not sure what I’ll do, but know this: I’ll be damned if I take another English class.