Dear Professor: I Am But a Poor Orphan Boy. Pathetic Human Garbage. For the Love of God. Let Me Into This Recitation.

Dear Professor,

I clambered into this world a cold, disgusting little worm man. Even the mound of garbage from which I was created could not bear to house me. And so, like the near-sighted, mud-dwelling mole mongrel that I am, I gnarled my way through the heap and into the blinding sun. I was never made for the sun, professor.

Ever since the instant I procured myself from that steaming pile of rubbish, my existence has been torment. I am but a poor orphan boy. A piece of human garbage. It is not my fault that I err. To err is to be cursed with my very birth, my very condition. To err is to be me. I was made of trash and darkness, and in trash and darkness I belong. 

That is why, unfortunately, I have signed up for a recitation which no longer fits in my schedule. But alas, every recitation is now closed. If you could be so merciful as to grace me with admission into the Thursday recitation, I would bow my head so low to you that I might return entirely to the filthy Earth which birthed me. Please, for the love of god, let me into the Thursday recitation.

Thank you for your consideration,

Eleanor Stalick

P.S. from GEOL 130