Master Patty Griffin

I'm currently plowing through my many, many, MANY assignments left before I am officially a Master of my Craft.

My craft being education, duh. Not simply being awesome. I mastered that long ago, doctored it, taught it to others and have several texts published on it found only at Ashinpitt's BlogSpot. But you already knew that.

No, what you didn't know, or maybe you did, is that I am mere weeks away from receiving my Masters degree from school in Secondary Education. That's right. A MASTERS. Only professionals in really nice offices have those. Only those dudes with the glasses and sweater vests and chicks with terrible haircuts have MASTERS degrees. And while I haven't informed my family yet that for at least two weeks I will insist upon them referring to me as Master Ashley around the house and on the telephone, I am practicing my regal bow and list of demands. Yogurt with no fruit on the bottom being a top priority. That shit is just gross.

Blah blah blah, I am avoiding the fact that the only thing that keeps my coffee high to a calm and constant work buzz is my complete collection of Patty Griffin looping on iTunes. She's calming. She's old and wise and needs to do something with that hair, but really, that's her deal. I don't have to look at the hair while her very talented bass player lulls me into the work zone.

And sure, there are certain songs of hers that can cause me to have complete meltdowns in the car on the way home from work, but that same song can later give me the strength to scream "MASTERS MASTERS MASTERS" over and over again at the top of my lungs as an exercise in futility to get this work done.

The finish line is so close, I can almost taste it. Then you'll all be sorry. And if you think I'm above getting a crown made and marching around my house with that little piece of paper for an entire day while eating chocolate eclairs that I insist someone feeds to me bite by bite, well then you would be wrong.

MASTERS!