Regrets

Only 21 more days 'til school's out for summer. As much as I look forward to that first, blessed summer morning in June that I lie in bed and think about not getting up at 5 AM, I curse these last few weeks of year end reports.
Why, oh why did I cut that typing class in high school? In my youthful idiocy, I thought that particular act of rebellion would save me from a career of feminine servitude.
I didn't want to be a secretary, I wanted to have a secretary.

In college, I learned the art of negotiating trades.
With my sculptor's eye, I discovered that I was pretty good at cutting hair. I began bartering barbering for typing. All of my term papers were tapped out by poor, penniless, boys who liked short hair.

Now, I have nothing but envy for my colleagues whose fingers fly as fast as thought, for I shall be spending way too much time at my keyboard. Pity, I don't get paid by the hour.

I will try to pull myself away from my tasks to post a few thoughts here. They certainly will not be more than several words, for I will, most likely, be typed out.