Finding my diploma is hard. I've called Northeastern 3 times this week (serious pain, I hate calling places) and been assured that my diploma has indeed been sent to my parent's new house on the cape, rather than their old, now occupied with people who have babies house in New Hampshire, where they claim to have sent it to three times. Yeah sure, Northeastern Office of Commencement. I place about as much faith in that as I do in my second graders who claim that yes in fact that did they wash their hands after using the bathroom, even though I was standing right outside the door and didn't hear the sink running.
This situation exactly sums up everything I hate about being a grown up. Nothing works like it's supposed to. And everything takes a billion phone calls and and a bunch of recalling your student ID and your phone pin and verifying your date of birth and mother's maiden name to fix.
I'm exhausted and I want to be 7 again. No Friday mix, again. I know. I wish I was 7. 7 year olds don't make Friday mixes. Or feel sorry about anything.
c'mon now, get with the program and update.
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