The Stress Parallel.

George Brown is the worst. I hope the whole college family (faculty, administration, janitors and especially the mail room), randomly become bate for a twenty-foot, man-eating, pink bunny - with a puffy tale - and is disposed of in a pile of very stinky and runny bunny guano.

That's right. I said it. Bunny guano.

It's one thing to be stressed out about making the right choices for your future. The act of flying head first into a potential life changing and expensive activity can cause some serious mind aches, but at least you're comfortable in knowing that there is absolutely no way that you can ever have control over the absolute lunacy that you're beginning to grow accustom to, because the tools you own that allow you to cope with said mess, are completely and utterly abstract.
It's when the tools that are supposed to be at your fingertips (the ones that allow you to proceed with the daunting task of fullfilling your life choices) fail you, that you literally become a walking, talking, breathing and frustrating personification of crazy.

George Brown sent out my registration package on June 6th, or so they say they did. I received my registration package on June 30th and the fees for my year of education MUST BE PAID by July 3rd or else I will be forced to pay a $150 late fee and my ability to register courses will be completely fucked up (Yes, that's right, I'm going to school. Some may wonder when I made this decision. I would gladly tell you, but unfortunately, I have yet to figure that out myself).

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

So good times with attempting to move three grand between bankaccounts, on a long weekend. I highly suggest you try it sometime. It does wonders for your stupid button.

But it's not only this catastrophe that's sending me right over the edge of financial stress and stupidity.
According to my registration package, I HAVE to write an English and Math placement test to find what level of intelligence I own, so they can put me in the right level of stupid for my next two semesters. I wouldn't mind this of course, but I randomly have THREE OAC English courses completed, all of which own an above 80 average and also, a College English that owns an above 70 average, so WHY I HAVE TO WRITE A MOTHER-FUCKING, GOD DAMNED PLACEMENT TEST FOR ENGLISH IS BEYOND ME, ESPECIALLY TO LEARN HOW TO BAKE A FUCKING CAKE.

The math I can understand.

But Ok, fine, so I have to write a test. No big deal.
But it is a big deal because I somehow have to find time to attend a two o'clock session at Casa Loma on July 7th that's going to consume three to three and half hours of my life. THREE FUCKING HOURS TO FIND OUT HOW STUPID I AM? You've got to be fucking insane.
But whatever. I'll figure it out.

So then I calmly attempted to find out when I can register my courses.
It says in the package that the George Brown website will tell me when the applicable registration date is for my course. Obviously, the web site says no such thing. What it does say is that courses fill up quickly and they should be registered in, ASAP, 'cause if you choose to wait and the classes fill up, you're shit out of luck.

Mind numbing brilliance. The Canadian, Post Secondary Education System is really a gem in a sea of mislead and unbelievably stupid people, such as myself.

But whatever. I'LL FIGURE IT OUT - On Tuesday, when the rest of the world starts to function again.

***

Andrew finally lost his mind the other night in regards to his house adventures.

His Financial Advisor fucked up somewhere along the lines and the twenty-thousand dollars Andrew was supposed to have for his closing date (also randomly enough, July 4th - the day of stress), is hanging somewhere in the vast emptiness of the Canadian Government's pockets.
So the Financial Advisor is going to cut Andrew a check of his own money, and Andrew is going to use that for his downpayment, but he has to use his own money, if he can, but he won't know if he can access it till two o'clock PM, on the day of the closing.

Excellent. Mind obliterating excellence.

So he finally realised he had enough and asked work for a leave of absense because he's too stressed to function properly and they said,

"We knew you were going to do this. You just want to party on the long weekend. So no, you can't have stress leave."

I will kill the TTC.

So after getting up at nine o'clock in the morning to meet with banks, Andrew worked a ten hour day and then endured a two hour drive to Buffalo for the purpose of his other job, delivered his news letters, had a good hour or two of sex (c'mon, the guy deserved it), and eventually arrived back in his bed at six AM, only to have to awake again at twelve PM, to work another ten hour shift.

Yeah I know. What the fuck am I complaining about?