I'm sitting here at my computer ready to get on my knees. This is scholarship application number 138. No answers, no fish, no bite. No money. No school. I'm a writer.

You're a writer. Writ them an essy that will blow their minds.

You're creative. Dazzle them until they have to give you money

You're smart.You'll figure it out.

So I'm still sitting here. I'm trying to be a creative smart writer that knows how to move my fingertips over this keyboard and enter the perfect combination that will get this one win. The cheat code that will get me noticed. The one that will silence that backhanded 'you can do this' compliments that always end with 'because if you don't'.

Writers are hardly understood and have a rather thankless job. I'm going to sit here and just open up a vein. That's what we do when we write . We slice a vein open and let what's inside flow onto the page and pray that it's good enough for you. It's the best we got. Often we're told we're not good enough.

138

You can only open the same vein so many times.

So I'm sitting here. Still tapping away, praying that this will be the one. Statistically I should've one something by now. Even with my C average in the cours, I know that. Statistics is strictly a sadistic class made to conform everyone to the same mundan, depressive mindset of accepting failure.

But I digress. I don't like math.

This is me. Young adult fiction author painted with a wonderful streak of attenion deficit disorder, a colorful mouth, and a brain I can never seem to escape, and hardly ever want to. It's nice in there. And that's all I have to offer.

So number 139, am I good enough for you?