I never think about the weight on this chair I burden with my fat ass-I feel my thighs on this leather and black computer chair growing thicker, butt Iwant to cast off a dark cloudy shroud from a thought wrappedaround my heart so unkindly and unexpectedly. This chairbears my weight in pounds, but my heart the size of anygiven fist (none hard enough to punch some sense into you)claims the agony of a mentor’s blindness by loosing his vizuals- or misappropriating the importance of the gift of learning–its cost to my wallet scares the fucking poop right my sphinter–the diploma to business translates to one word if I succeed.Freedom. Oh, if only it were in a bargain basement somewhere down south. True Freedom. I hurt because you hurt me. I cry.I ache. If I decide to satisfy my goals and not your ideals–you ask me why bother to finish my thesis for cristsakes?I ask you why continue to attend an institution where my mentor publishes his novels (fiction) whom I respect but misses my entire objective. Health, health, health, but from you I caught an illness. Nothing so banal as you, just a love so true it’swell–right. Thanks though, so much.