It won't heal if you don't stop picking at it.

So... I got my Aggie Ring...

I went to turn in my article for Dr. Deb's class today and we talked a bit about some stuff, but when I was leaving her office, Dr. Rutherford asked if I could spare a few minutes.

I'm a total slave to professors, so I sat my punk-ass down in her office and she began to smile. I had hit the point of no return, and she knew it. From there on, I was the clay - she was the sculptor.

She told me that however good my story ideas were, she and the editorial staff had something else in mind for me. "Mysteries Solved: A Look at Campus Legend" was what it was to be called.

"You'd do something on whether the Animal Industries building is really haunted, or where all the money at Sul Ross' feet goes after finals, or even why they don't polish the top of the Academic Building anymore," Dr. Rutherford proposed.

"OH! That sounds really cool," I said, but I was thinking "Yeah, I'm going to be a real ground-breaking photojournalist by doing this story. She only picked me to do this because I'm the weirdest person in the class."

I was kicking myself after I left her office.

WHY AM I SO LAME? WHY CAN'T I STAND UP TO MY PROFESSORS?

I guess I should pose those questions in the article, because it's a damn mystery to me.