I want to go back to school. I want to get an MFA in Nonfiction Writing or a graduate degree in Journalism and I want to do nothing but sit in coffee shops and airplanes and pin the world down and mold it into truths I can explain and hold it hostage until it promises to change and then go home for Christmas and bring the right kind of candy thermometer this time so my mom can teach me the right way to make her peanut brittle so I can give it to people who say things like “I don’t like peanut brittle, I just don’t know what it is about the stuff,” and make them realize they actually do love peanut brittle and are desperate to have more, as a matter of fact.