College? Who needs it? Not me, that's for sure. At least, that's what I had thought for a long time. In the last two years of high school, I didn't do much. I knew that I wasn't going to go to college. No matter what I told my parents and teachers, I knew it wasn't for me.
             All I wanted to do was graduate. My feeling was that I had put in my 13 years' worth. The last thing I was going to do was four more, and by choice at that. Graduation was amazing. I have never felt so free in my entire life. I didn't know what my future held for me, but I was excited. The summer was full of the wildest "we're free" parties and lazy days on the beach. Then September rolled around, and my friends began leaving one by one. Each one starting down a new and exciting path they had never seen. If my friends didn't leave for school, they were starting at junior colleges in the area. Everyone had a direction and knew where they were headed except me.
             Up until this point, my parents had been very understanding about me not wanting to go to college. But the deal was if I wasn't in school full time, then I needed to have a job. So find a job I did, but it was only part-time, which didn't satisfy my parents. Now I felt like I was letting them down, even though they weren't pushing me. I knew they wanted me in school, so I gave in and signed up for a class at Palomar. I hated it; it was high school all over again. Once again, I was going to school for someone other than myself. Doing it only for them when I was at a time in my life when I should be living my life for myself, doing what will make me happy. I dropped out 3 weeks into the semester—much to the disappointment of my parents. But I didn't care. I was going to do things my way.
             For the next year, I just hung out. Moving from job to job, just trying to stay busy. I was not happy. My friends would come home with all their stories of "college life," while I had nothing exciting to say about hom...