beating two dead horses
It is ten minutes to eight, Thursday morning. I'm in my apartment, which is a complete wreck because I haven't been here for more than a couple hours at a time since before my five day trip to the coast two weeks ago. I've been spending all my time at SK's. She leaves for Australia, 2pm, this Sunday. She will be gone two months. It will be a different season when she returns. The days will be longer. The trees will all have leaves.
In the past two weeks, SK has sent me approximately six pieces of mail -- postcards mostly and a picture she drew w/ oil pastels on stiff, square paperboard. Just this morning, checking my mail for the first time in a few days, I found two new post cards. One came yesterday, one the day before. With her addresses in Australia, all the places she'll be so I can write her. She's not even gone yet and already she's sending me mail. Wow. Two months is a long time.
The other horse up for flogging? I'm mentally preparing myself to go to campus in an hour or so and work on my shitty brief for birdlady. I dread it. I dread it so much. I mean, before my second run through birdlady's ringer, I felt that healthy sense of work-to-be-done when I went to edit the brief and rewrite the arguments. I felt like I understood better what I should do and I wanted to give it a shot. Now I feel less like I understand the law, less like I understand what I'm supposed to write, and more like what it must be like to be kinda dumb and not understand the stuff that's going on in school. Actually, I'm getting an idea what it must feel like for the client whose brief I'm writing -- she had been very sharp and spent her adult life working at a very mentally demanding job... then she had a burst aneurysm... then, two brain surgeries and several clipped aneurysms later, she's feeling the difference. The old grey matter, it ain't what it used to be.
Feeling dumb sucks. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't care about what I was doing. If I was one of the rowdy, surly kids in high-school who hated it and didn't do their homework and didn't give a shit that they didn't understand what we were talking about in algebra or geometry or whatever. If that was me, it wouldn't matter. I'd do a shitty job, I'd shrug while birdlady berated me, then I'd go home and smoke a bowl or something. Maybe I should do that anyway. Stupid birdlady.
Instead, I thought this is what I wanted to do for a living and now I don't know what the fuck I want to do for a living, but I'm starting to understand that I don't want to do any kind of Law. Which is a shame, kind of, because I've just spent three years slaving away in law school, amassing tons of debt with the foolish notion that I'd be making phat cash in a few years as a LAWYER, no problem paying those student loans back. Yeah. Right.
What the fuck am I gonna do with myself???
You know what I've been looking into? More school. When in doubt, right, stay in school. Masters programs in conflict resolution. Keep me in the safe arms of the classroom, don't turn me out into the harsh, harsh world! Save me, higher education! Save me, serial graduate programs! Save me, federal student aid! You're my only hope!
In the past two weeks, SK has sent me approximately six pieces of mail -- postcards mostly and a picture she drew w/ oil pastels on stiff, square paperboard. Just this morning, checking my mail for the first time in a few days, I found two new post cards. One came yesterday, one the day before. With her addresses in Australia, all the places she'll be so I can write her. She's not even gone yet and already she's sending me mail. Wow. Two months is a long time.
The other horse up for flogging? I'm mentally preparing myself to go to campus in an hour or so and work on my shitty brief for birdlady. I dread it. I dread it so much. I mean, before my second run through birdlady's ringer, I felt that healthy sense of work-to-be-done when I went to edit the brief and rewrite the arguments. I felt like I understood better what I should do and I wanted to give it a shot. Now I feel less like I understand the law, less like I understand what I'm supposed to write, and more like what it must be like to be kinda dumb and not understand the stuff that's going on in school. Actually, I'm getting an idea what it must feel like for the client whose brief I'm writing -- she had been very sharp and spent her adult life working at a very mentally demanding job... then she had a burst aneurysm... then, two brain surgeries and several clipped aneurysms later, she's feeling the difference. The old grey matter, it ain't what it used to be.
Feeling dumb sucks. It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't care about what I was doing. If I was one of the rowdy, surly kids in high-school who hated it and didn't do their homework and didn't give a shit that they didn't understand what we were talking about in algebra or geometry or whatever. If that was me, it wouldn't matter. I'd do a shitty job, I'd shrug while birdlady berated me, then I'd go home and smoke a bowl or something. Maybe I should do that anyway. Stupid birdlady.
Instead, I thought this is what I wanted to do for a living and now I don't know what the fuck I want to do for a living, but I'm starting to understand that I don't want to do any kind of Law. Which is a shame, kind of, because I've just spent three years slaving away in law school, amassing tons of debt with the foolish notion that I'd be making phat cash in a few years as a LAWYER, no problem paying those student loans back. Yeah. Right.
What the fuck am I gonna do with myself???
You know what I've been looking into? More school. When in doubt, right, stay in school. Masters programs in conflict resolution. Keep me in the safe arms of the classroom, don't turn me out into the harsh, harsh world! Save me, higher education! Save me, serial graduate programs! Save me, federal student aid! You're my only hope!
posted by reasonably prudent poet at 7:50 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home