Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Oh, nevermind.

My original intention in creating this blog was to give my (embittered) law-school application ramblings a new home.

Nevermind. I'm no specialist.

I go to an interview for a seasonal job tomorrow. I'd love to say that I'm going as I "stare down the barrel of my gap year," but the fact of the matter is that I'm quickly burning up that year. In 8 months, I sign my soul over to law school- being both naive and a bit of a sadist, I'm looking forward to that.

In the interim, I'm living at home. Now, don't me wrong- I love the family, I love the free rent, and all that jazz- this is something I need to do. Nonetheless, after 4 years of independence, living with the parents again can be a tough pill to swallow. The problem is exacerbated by the fact that my parents have apparently spent the last 4 years studying the most insidious and guilt-inspiring ways to get under my skin: incessant, tuneless whistling and adopting the word 'friggin' as a descriptor come to mind, for example. My annoyance at these behaviors (honestly, in your 50s, certain vocabulary should be off-limits) would be mild with a roommate- but being subjected to such things by my parents, who are aging and still display an eagerness to be accepted rivaled only by 6th grade girls, incites an unsettling mixture of pity, disgust, and irritation in me.

A story which should explain a little more about my parents' connection to my universe:
When I was applying to law school, with a mediocre GPA but great test scores & extracurriculars, I carpet-bombed the top 20 or so schools, expecting to get into none. Shockingly enough, I got great responses from some great schools (just enough to keep some hope alive), and (not shockingly) a terse "no, and we used your application check for lunch today" from others.
In February or so, with 19 schools to hear from, I got a phone call from my mother:

"Honey, there's a big envelope in the mail for you. Should I open it?"
(hyperventilating) "Who's it from, Mom?"
"It's from Chicago!"
"Oh shit! Open it, open it!"
"Its a viewbook!! They want you to apply!!"
"......Mom....Where is this envelope from?"
"Chicago! Oh wait......Chicago-Kent....Sorry honey. So, are you going to apply?"


All rights reserved to my snotty and generally self-deprecating writing. And if your comments bother me, I'll delete them. That's right, pumpkin.
...How dreary—to be—Somebody!
How public—like a Frog—
To tell one's name—the livelong June—
To an admiring Bog!
-- Emily Dickinson