MBA

I wish I was not sitting in this class. I wish I was on the top of a waterfall, poised to jump the life out of my purposeless existence in a white-collar management establishment. A nameless, burgeoning voice is shouting in the halls of my depravedness; spewing out - positional authority, uselessly dissected practicality; traditional, clerical, technical methods to evaluate meaningless, empirical data – a white cloud of perspiring August Noise fills the room like my nightmares throng with sad promises of an average life.
Confused voices, unsure of their cradle and consequence, jet from above and behind, assuming their goals for their dreams. Their smiles are innocent, their minds are drifting, in a pale sea of imposed conformity. They are not to blame, they operate in a delirium. A delirium of a vague rapture, not of a calm trance.
But then, there's always the hot seniors. And so, tranquility sets in.