September 21, 2011 § Leave a comment
I’ve felt unspeakably dreary these past two days, and I don’t know why. Too little food? Too much? Creative uncertainty? All that comes from writing in a vacuum. Usually it’s enough to feel myself, appreciating myself, but sometimes it gets a little lonely. And a few days ago, of course, I was telling B. about former classmates of mine who had gone on to do — in fact still were doing — some interesting things, post graduation. The former EIC of the newspaper is now employed, in some unspecified but grand capacity, at the United States Senate. A writing workshop classmate of mine went from working at a D.C. think tank to working at the World Bank. A past housemate is employed at YouTube as a policy analyst and content monitor. Innumerable people are earning doctorates at great schools.
I try to tell myself that for every budding U.S. Senator, I know ten underemployed humanities majors doing drudge work at AnonCorp Inc; or winging it, with the help of wealthy parents, as a barely paid freelance writer. That helps.
I don’t think about my chances of being happy in law school if I can help it.
It’s probably not a coincidence that the night I have a nightmare about being chased down a narrowing stone alleyway by rapists was the same night I finished Dorothy Dunnett’s Checkmate. Actually, now that I think of it, the part of the dream where I hole up in a kind stranger’s house (the lady’s criminal husband from Drive?) was quite reminiscent of Philippa’s convalescence at Sevigny.