Fucking damn it all

Sometimes I guess I have to admit that I am upset, and stop hiding behind all the sarcasm and "yeah it doesn't bother me"'s.

Just, everything is so fucked. I have no financial aid because I went to MO state for that semester and still owe them money, which okay, that's fine.
Except school costs more money than anything ever should. 112 dollars a credit hour? Are you kidding me? Sign me up for one credit hour then.
Plus books and labs and fees and other shit, my tuition for the next year costs about..hold on, let me break it down. Maybe someone from the government will see this and realize how FUCKED it is for any normal person without a rich daddy to have a fucking education.

3000.00 Tuition per term
75.00 Fee (fee for what? It doesn't fucking say)
2150.00 (estimated books and supplies for entire program)
GRAND TOTAL = 20250.00

This is an accelerated course, so I would have my bachelors by May 2010 if I start in March (which I want to), and then its three years to the Masters.
Now, that's all fine and dandy, but where the hell do I get 20250?! I make $7.05 an hour at Office Depot, and if I'm lucky I get 32 hours a week. And when school starts theres no way I will be able to work 32 hours and maintain a GPA above a .004. And I can take out loans, except I need a cosigner and now my mother is all like, "Well...if you don't pay they go after me, so....I don't know...can I think about it?" NO YOU CAN'T BLOODY THINK ABOUT IT! You can shell out all sorts of shit tons of money for Amanda to be perpetually drunk and high for a semester at SEMO, but you can't COSIGN ON A FUCKING LOAN?!
AH. I'm, I'm just so mad, and so upset because I don't know how to fucking do this without some sort of help. Financial Aid, forget about it, and of course I'm going to apply for grants and school loans, and hope that it helps, and probably do work study as well, but I have to come up with whatever that doesn't cost myself.
And I will never understand why a TEXTBOOK costs me almost SEVENTY GODDAMN DOLLARS, and why teachers require you have the brand new one that just came out, so you can't buy it used, plus you have to buy all your own lab equipment. What the fuck do you mean, buy all my own lab shit. ISNT THAT WHY IM PAYING 20000 DOLLARS A TERM, SO YOU HAVE LAB SHIT IN THE GODDAMN LAB FOR ME TO USE?!?
And then mom wants to say, "Please, booboo, don't cry, we have time to figure this out." No, I don't. I am twenty, and would like to have my RN before I am thirty. I'm supposed to start in March, not whenever the hell you feel like it.
So okay, that's school.

Then, right before she hangs up the phone with me she askes, "Did you take off the 27th?" Yeah, I took off the 27th, even though I told you I didn't want to go. I didn't want to go to the first two trials.
My dad's trials. The last time I remember talking to me I was five. The first time he was in my room saying, "You can trust me," and the second time was in the driveway saying, "I'll buy you a new snow globe, I promise."
Hey, guess which one of those were lies. If you guessed BOTH you would be right. If you added that he never once tried to speak to me, help me in any time, or paid child support in any way, you would have been right too.
The 27th is his last trial before they cart his ass off to jail, unless he can come up with 100,000 dollars (and then that top part of the blogs stress would be solved), in which case he gets a slap on the wrist and is free to go back to being a fishermen in Oregon.
Anyway, the first one I went to was more of a hearing. I guess both times were hearings, and this last one was a trial, but he walked up to my mom and said, "It's just a hearing Susan."
And she said, "I know."
And then he looked at me, and said, "Is this Amanda?"
And I said, "No." And I died a little on the inside. I mean, I guess a part of me was hoping that he would look at me and AT LEAST know who I was.
So, no, I don't want to go anymore, and look at the man who has no idea who I am, or anything about me. Just because we have the same eye shape and color, are the same height, have the same nose, and both play with our hands behind our backs when nervous does not mean anything apparently.
Sperm doner.

I'm being pathetic. Sorry, I'm done.