Mea Culpa and the Children

Hello all, forgive me for neglecting my lovely blog of late. Things just get caught up, like in the washing machine, spinning, spinning, till all the clothes are twisted in a big knot around the center. Of course, that's not what they really do: the centrifugial force, forces them outward, away from the center, and that's how I finally end up back here, at the dark blue, tan, and white "Create" page, on which I compose a blog.
What has my time composed of, other than eating lemon bars and storing fat away? Most of my waking hours have been going to composing an essay for those who have enough money to give away. That's right, scholorships. And this particular essay is about child labor and compassion. It didn't take many site hits before I'm practically in tears over the little goobers. In factories, in domestic work, in mines, and agriculturally, the maze of sites presents them as emotionally as possible, necessary for funding, I assume. Did you know there's even child labor in the U.S.?
Now I'm all gleaming eyed-most comparable to civil rights activists-and preparing my major in order to go over to these underdeveloped countries and give a hand. But truthfully, I can't afford to be a save the children advocate, barely paying my own bills. The university finally called me and lay down the law: I have to pay them in 4 months, with payments of about $450 a month. That puts all my other bills on the back burner.
There is encouraging news on the revenue front, however, since I turned in several applications to places like Kroger and the Dollar Store. I need that second job: it's absolutely vital for paying bills and making money over the summer.