The reality of more hours

Me: (looks at money, realizes needs more. Realizes that to get more, needs to work. Doesn't want to ask for more work. Goes anyways)
Manager: (looks up at arrival of  internally conflicted employee) Yes?
Me: I would like more hours please. (eyes burning pits of  regret and anger)
Manager: (slightly disturbed by rolling waves of  hostility radiating off of employee) .... Okay.
Me: Great. Thanks. (Walks away while screaming hysterically on the inside)

An Ode to the First Day Back

Today was my first day of school.

I couldn't help but simply drool. 

What sane person arises at 7:30?

Curse my driven mind,

 for getting me up this early.

Four classes are ready to go,

to crush my hope,

and steal my soul.

Oh how did learning

become such a drag?

I'm stuck in a seat,

while children play tag.

The ghost of homework,

will haunt me again,

I'll never see the sun,

or be free this weekend.

School has come,

There's no way to hide it.

None have prepared,

I hope I survive it.

My Netflix Existence

Here's a sad poem about my Netflix existence.

My sister and I are about to watch Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse. 

Truth be told this isn't the first time. 

I'm not a child. I'm an adult. 

 I've never been prouder of my standards.

It's so sad it doesn't even rhyme.