every day more surly

I don't want to be a lawyer. I don't know what I want to be, but I'm pretty sure I don't want to be a lawyer. I went to a ten-minute hearing today, but before I went to the hearing, I spent two hours in an attorney's office looking over the case. After the hearing, the geriatric attorney rambled almost incoherently to me about the pros and cons of particular career paths then doddered off to use a coupon at Borders. I felt like I'd spent the day with an escapee from the dementia ward of a hospital. Sweet but confused and sometimes combative. He actually got into a little fight with two women at the bank on the way to the hearing. Later he waxed poetic on the luxury of his dumpy office. This is what I have to look forward to: 12 hour days in fluorescently lit rooms pouring over paperwork to prepare me for ten minutes of ass-kissing in administrative hearings so I can make so little money I need a coupon to shop at Borders.

I'm just complaining. I feel like complaining a lot lately about a lot of things. I guess I'm just a spoiled rotten brat. After Friday, after my exam, everything will be done and I'll be free to think and explore and read for pleasure and do whatever else I want and I won't have to get on here and whine about how unsatisfied I am with every aspect of my life right now. And we can all look forward to that.