Mixtape Marathon


"In vacant or in pensive mood..." I am: Bekah; 24; Law Student / Favorite Things: Carbs (so there!), Johnny Damon, Smiling at babies, Grilled cheese, Comfortable silence / Favorite Supreme Court Justice: Brennan / Favorite Wilson: Owen by an inch / Today's Special: Song: Elliott Smith, "Bled White"; Quote: "You know, there's like a butt-load of gangs at this school. This one gang kept wanting me to join because I'm pretty good with a bowstaff." Please love me: mmbekah@yahoo.com


February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 September 2005
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
 
A Tale Told By an Idiot

Last week, I had a little bit of a breakdown. I guess it wasn't so much a breakdown as an epiphany (although that sounds too dramatic; maybe "feeling of ickiness" is more technically accurate). Anyway, the terminology is irrelevant. All that matters is that I realized, in one terrible flash of self-awareness, that I couldn't remember what I'd done the day before. Or three days before. Or the week before. It scared me. I thought, "If my memory is failing me this drastically at the age of 24, it must mean that there is nothing worth remembering." Since then, I've started getting generally panicky. My stomach hurts a lot, and my back and neck are starting to get tense again. I feel like my entire life has become a blur of going to class, eating, fulfilling mindnumbing tasks for law review, trying frantically to maintain connections with the people who are important to me, and sleeping (theoretically). (Even now I can tell that writing about this stuff makes it sound much more dramatic and troubling than it is. I am not having fainting spells, or hiding in the dark scribbling by candlelight into some scary journal, or staring at the wallpaper waiting for it to come to life. I'm just having a slightly not-OK time right now).

I understand that these are hardly novel feelings. It's normal for people my age (especially those of us in law school) to have thoughts like this. I've heard all the pep talks (law school is a rite of passage, it gets better, you're moving toward a goal, suck it up and make sacrifices now so you can be happy later), and yes, they helped at first. They lulled me into believing that studying 12 hours a day or more during exams was really no big deal in the grand scheme of things. But they just don't do it for me anymore. Because sometimes I feel like I'm fulfilling a rite of passage for entry into a place I don't even want to be. I don't have the love of the law that some people have. Or the drive. Or the desire to "make it" as a lawyer who spends her life in the same cycle I'm stuck in right now.

I know that at this point it's too late to back out. A good deal of time and money and pride is at stake. But I think it's just wrong to tell people in my position that what we're doing right now is important preparation, that we should suffer through it, grin and bear it, in order to succeed in the future. MY LIFE IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW, AND I'M NOT EVEN AWARE OF IT. THAT IS NOT SOMETHING THAT SHOULD JUST BE OK FOR ME. In the next few weeks, I'm going to have to start putting lots of energy into studying. But to get through that ordeal I'm going to have to use most of my energy to combat the resentment I feel for having to read Evidence when I want to be writing or reading real books or being. This is not the first time I've felt or written about this kind of thing. This is also not healthy. But what can I do?

When I was trying to articulate all of this to my dad this afternoon, he quoted Macbeth. I should have remembered that, even when I have what I think is an epiphany, Shakespeare will have always said it best:

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Now Shakespeare and I will be in the corner, sulking. But I'm sure I'll be back soon. After all, I won't remember any of this tomorrow.