  For the past eleven years, I've been institutionalized in factories of education. For the most part, I've enjoyed my position here and have taken pride in the work I've accomplished, though it differs from the education I have come to realize was its intended goal.
The names and numbers have always served me as the conveyor belt serves a man in the assembly line. They have perpetuated my interest and my desire to participate by simply fulfilling themselves through means of a constant presence and service. As long as the merchandise is there in front of me, it seems only logical to make use of it. And so, I've dissected the trigonometric functions and calculus theory, and I've drawn my eyes across horizontal lines of text revealing the cyclical nature of history.
I've let it be wrung out by the eager hands of novelists and poets who've inspired me time and time again to cleanse my palette in anticipation for the next course.I have acquired so many products of fact over the duration of my time here, but my education can not be confined to the context of the walls of these factories. 
