So I'm doing my very best to get a position as Editor in Chief of the journal. The journal, which, despite my griping about bluebooking and students notes, I like quite a bit (and not just as a resume padder...though it helps). The position is elected, so I bit the bullet and announced my candidacy this week.
I am aware that this is a dangerous proposition for me. It could be a terrific experience: lots of hard work that ultimately pays off, I enhance my academic credentials while furthering the prestige of the journal and wielding power and influence (all for the benefit of my fellow man). Later, the Journal will be nominated for a Pulitzer.
It could also reduce me to a blithering, macro-obsessed mess, as I sob inconsolably to Darwin about en dashes and wake Roommate up in the wee hours to worry over the Rule of 5.
(Sorry, are you new here? I'm a little neurotic.)
I weighed this decision with Funny Mean Friend, who had a pretty spot-on assessment:
Nobody: so I am running for Editor in Chief of my journalbecause you know what I need?
She's totally right.
Anyway, the whole process is a lot like running for student body positions in middle school: lots of glad handling and smiling pretty, so that you can give a speech and people can tear you apart the minute you leave the room. I've had the good fortune to keep my dirty laundry strewn across the bedroom floor, and not across the law school, so I'm less susceptible to the inevitable sniping than I might otherwise be.
This is not to say I'm looking forward to it- trying to get myself elected, that is. Campaigning is not a particular strength of mine. It goes against my character to stand around and ask people to like me. Redeeming qualities are just coming out my ears. I mean, if you don't have the good sense to see it off the bat: should I really have to convince you? Yeah, exactly. I'm just not that cuddly or friendly. But, you know. Totally electable. Get on that.
Vote for Twitchy Control Freak buttons will be coming out next week. Wear yours with pride.