2005-03-05 - 9:52 a.m.
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So I have been rather obsessively clicking on the small list of blogs and things I have bookmarked, and rather obsessively clicking on whatever those people link to.

It is absolutely insane how many of these people have book contracts. Or actual books. Or mad hella quantities of devoted blog readers. Or, at the very least, are much funnier than I am and know how to make animated things. And what makes me sick--with jealousy, envy, and who knows what else--is that I know there is a book, or an NPR commentary, or SOMETHING creative and funny and wonderful in me somewhere.

And I realize that hey, my job in Chicago wasn't all that bad, and that there were parts of it I really enjoyed, and even though I wasn't raking it in, I made plenty to support a lifestyle that made me happy. As many times as I worked myself into a lather about the HMO, fuck, at least I had healthcare. At least I could afford to keep my meds stable. I could have even afforded an apartment if I completely lost patience with co-oping.

And I am painfully aware that if I knew law school was going to be like this--or if I knew I was going to fuck it up as spectacularly as I fucked up undergrad--I would never have come.

Where I live is much less comfortable than it used to be. I dunno, maybe living here was never that great an idea. I got kicked out of my first apartment because of my slobbitude, and I was angry, but that didn't mean I had to leave JP. Obviously I'm getting antsy to leave Boston, and part of that is getting antsy to leave here. This happened every year in the dorm, too, when going home seemed to be a huge relief, even if it meant going home to shit jobs and living with my parents.

I don't even want to talk about how weird it is to be so excited about going home to live with my boyfriend. I would like to think that I have never been the type of person to up and drop everything for the sake of their relationship. Everyone who knew me then, as in when we were together before and it sucked my brain out and splattered it onto a windshield, is horrified. There is one person I haven't talked to since I got back with Ken because He Knew Me Then and I am afraid of what he will say. This also includes everyone to whom I'm related, I am sure. Mom seems to be glad I'm coming home, but it feels very I-told-you-so. She's the one who's always saying how needy I am and how being far away makes it hard for her to help. I'm sure they don't mean to make me feel bad, but there you go. (And yes, writing about it here instead of calling people on things is passive-aggressive behavior, and no, I don't really care.)

All right. Wallowing like this does not appear to be helping. Yes, I am miserable. Yes, I am going to work my ass off for three more months and jack up my debt by a few more thousands in order to get a degree that, in my current mood, I would just as soon not have. But I also have one more public-interest co-op left before I join the real world. (Which is my new project, starting Monday.) And who knows, maybe I will get an actual job, public-interest or otherwise, when it is all over.

Of course, maybe I will declare bankruptcy at age 28 and work at Megalo Mart or the International House of Waffles or Home Despot.

At the same time, I loathe almost every aspect of my life right now. So I have almost nothing to lose.

Which is a really fucking optimistic way of looking at life, but, as they say in Cabaret, So What?

woogie - woo