At Thanksgiving dinner at the ambassador’s I told Margaret that I would not let other people’s behavior make me feel like I have to apply to grad school now. And I won’t, but the words “Harvard Law,” obscene LSAT scores, and word of medical school acceptances pool in my inbox. Pool and curdle into a cottage cheese of pessimism. Cottage cheese. You know what would taste really good right now…
Spare your words of encouragement; I would challenge you not to feel a sense of injustice that the same people who thought surfing down the dormitory stairs on spare mattresses was a good idea are headed to Harvard Law or will do your coronary bypass operation in thirty years. While you, who were in your room
studying for a Korean test, in your room reading a book, in your room sleeping, in your room eating the ramen that will be the reason you need that operation, will probably end up not making much money working in a library or serving coffee with your unpublished novel in a desk drawer.
Ok, so I don’t actually remember who was involved in the mattress surfing, and congratulations are in order. Don’t mind me, I’m just dyspeptic. I’ve developed a sudden allergy to eggs and they served bibimbap in the cafeteria this afternoon.