Suddenly, under the oppressive weight of it all

my school bag, struggling to keep it all together, let out its last breath and died.

While I was walking up Sutter street to work, no less.

It slid down my body like some weird canvas snake, hugging my hips and landing in a cloth puddle at my feet.

I threw my head back and I laughed.

Do you know why I could laugh and not scream or cry at this moment when I knew I would have to carry this bag with its teeny-tiny hand strap up the remaining four blocks to work?

Because suckas, my final is kaput! I killed it last night like all good finals. I believe I gave it a thorough ass whupping, although the multiple choice were harder than I would have liked, but the actual problems on the test were spankable. Jocy-style.

Boo-yah. Take that Managerial Accounting.

So yeah, school bag is dead under the oppresive weight of books and notes and blah blah blah, who really cares because it's just another expense I need to add to the list.

Now I need to find a new bag before I start Finance for Masters, or whatever the hell it's called.

Which, is Monday.

Came home last night and began the process of conquering a decade old fear of mine. It's a good, slow, healing process that I think is coming along quite well. I feel good about it.

Went to bed before 10.

I'm feeling good today.

Damn fine indeed.