Right now, it seems like my goal is to be the stupidest in class. I’m right on my way. It hit me (I’d been avoiding it) that I am rather depressed here. Bad enough that I don’t want to do this, now I have to face that I’m also hating myself for being here. And, its getting to the point where I don’t give a fuck about anyone else’s problems. Someone starts talking, and I just want to shut them up with the back of my hand.
Law school is changing me. It’s making me less empathetic. All these cases, especially in torts, of people dying, or in contracts, of surrogacy contracts, and where does the child go, and I’ve been reading so much of it, they cease being people, and start being plaintiffs. Nameless faceless plaintiffs, bunch of random characters in a horrible play that I wanted to stop watching about a month and a half ago.
I’ll be screwing half of them over anyway, if I cannot avoid the onrush. I know, I know, I know so desperately that this is not what I want to do, if the first 6 weeks are any indication. I desperately do not want to become one of them. Hell, it seems like I am fundamentally different from the rest of them, because even personality wise, they do things I do not understand, and vice versa.
…Worst thing is, I want to tell all this to someone RIGHT NOW, but I don’t want to be that guy who keeps coming to me and sobbing over shit. So, as usual, I turn to the words on the page. It is for the best that there’s not a class this semester that boots you out if you’re not prepared, because at this point, I’m not really sure if I could (would) keep up with it.
Somewhere in my soul, there’s a list to sign up on, for the priorities in my life. And on that list are a bunch of different requests, reshuffled according to various levels of importance. There are my relatives hopes, written in Chinese I can’t read, asking me to train to become a lawyer, because I’m currently the last in the [K.T.] line, because I need to be able to support a family, because my mother won’t live long enough to see me do anything else. There’s also all my friends’ hopes, written in English that hurts to read, asking me to train to become a lawyer, because it is what they would do if they had the chance, because I owe it to myself to become “the best [K.T.] that I can be,” because what else am I going to do? Write?
And somewhere at the bottom, in tiny, almost childish, handwriting, I have written down, “Enjoy your life. Live it as you want to. Do what would make you happy.” Really, that is the question I overlooked. Forever, it was, are you failing everyone else, when I should have asked, are you failing yourself?
[Sigh. –K]
***Got a voice mail from Mom. This isn't particularly out of the ordinary, as I was driving and keep the phone on perma-vibrate, a holdover from my L-school days. I figure it can't be that important.
"Hi, [K.T.], the insurance company says they're about to cancel my health insurance. Please call me, this is very urgent."
Crap.
As I was picking up some clothing from the dry cleaners, this made me quite antsy, especially while I had to wait for the large man in the blue plaid shirt (very wrinkled back) and blue khakis (also wrinkled) unball the six shirts and five pants he brought, then take the undershirt with him. Then he paid by credit card. Then I had to wait for the giant clothes hanging machine to bring my suit around. Ever notice how everything takes forever when you don't have enough time?
Rush back to the apartment, fling myself into my seat, and check out fedex.com. Sure enough, they delivered the papers about a month ago. This freaks me out, because then it falls on my head. I screwed it up.
Twitchy thumb to scroll down to my Mom's cell phone. Then a dial. Each ring taking about thirty seconds. Thoughts of having to support my mom's insurance on my meager salary start dancing in my head. Poor mom suddenly needing surgery or more medicine.
Yeah, it turned out she read the confirmation letter wrong. As her English ain't so great, she starts spelling out the longer words, like "recertification." As I was already a bit frustrated, I launch into my mini-joke tirade. I can hear her laughing as I go into this.
K.T.: OK, I can't read everything for you guys, especially when I'm in Virginia. I can do a lot, but I need you guys to do some things for me. I can't do everything. So, from now on, here's what I need you to do. Before you call me about anything like this, read it twice, OK? You had me all worried and freaked out. Just read it twice, then call me. OK?
There's a lot of chest-slapping and fist-pounding during this rant. I'm also walking around the dining room table and (un-)fairly screaming at everything in sight. Ah, parents.
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