. . . what has happened, I hear you wondering, that is not my fault? And if it’s not my fault, who is to blame?
Important things first: this is Ruby’s fault.
How? Glad you asked.
See, we were talking the other night about our plans — such as they may or may not be — for grad school. And she mentioned to me that there is no required or disqualifying major when it comes to applying to law school. She mentioned that I, as an English major, am technically qualified to apply for entrance to law school.
(Which, as a side note, seems really odd to me. An undergraduate degree in Political Science, Criminology, Psychology, Business, Social Work, even Youth and Children’s Studies or Women and Gender Studies makes sense to me when it comes to the law. All of those majors relate really well to certain legal fields. But English? As in, literature and theory and criticism? Does not compute.)
My immediate reaction is that I will not be applying to law school; I’ll leave that to Ruby. Because I would lose my shit if I were in law school.
And then . . . then I actually stopped to think about that for a minute. I thought about what it would be like, to be a law student. To deal with that atmosphere, those peers and professors, the politics and ambition, the workload and expectations. And after considering all those things, I started to think about what my inevitable fuck-this-shit moment would look like.
I’m pretty sure that I would set my textbooks and/or my dorm room on fire, spray Silly String all over the campus monuments, and then climb the clock tower/tallest monument to glitter-bomb everything in a suit, and coffee-bomb everything else that moved. I’d be up there, whipping water balloons filled with lukewarm shitty coffee and screaming “TAKE THAT! AND THAT! AND THAT! AND HERE, HAVE SOME MORE, YOU SOULLESS, BACKBITING CORPORATE-LOVING MONKEYS! IT’S ALL YOU HAVE LEFT IN YOUR BODIES ANYMORE!”
When I shared this vision with Ruby — and the accompanying wisdom that law school is really not for me — she laughed. When I mentioned it to Milady, complaining that the above would result from an inability to deal with people, play politics, or care enough about others’ opinions of me/my reputation, she was rather concerned. Mostly by how much thought I’d put into this.
But, well. If I was going to consider it, then I had to do it properly. After all, there would have been no point to half-assing it, would there?
(But you see now? Ruby’s fault.)
I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.