(no subject)
Everything should really be something. Everything should be really something. Everything should be something, really. I took a walk about in the snow.
I stumbled, here and there. My arms are tired and my eyes don't want to do the work needed to read what I'm typing. Struggle through. Everything is climbing a mountain, except watching television.
But I'm here, and that's something. Really something. Something, really. I've gotten to thinking about my future lately. Not by my own volition- well, not entirely. January is around the time graduate schools take admissions in, and law schools also.
A lawyer. I like arguing and persuading and making a point and all the different ways to say "showing my brain and tongue off" and I like logic and practice and ethics and all the other means of saying "I'm right because of my tongue and brain," and that's at the heart of lawyery.
The prospective heaps of money don't hurt either.
But tonight, outside in the snow, I put my umbrella down. I took off my hat. With nothing on or above my head, I could really see the snow falling. All of it at once, overwhelming in its unyielding uniform descent. I thought about sitting on an old railroad bridge, and watching traffic below. I thought about ponds and words and a lot of other things I like. I thought about the nameless apprehension that grasps me every now and then, when nothing bad is around.
Sometimes, without irony, I can just look up and say, "it's this miraculous love that i have for the world, miraculous," over and over, like a mantra, and everything becomes something more. It becomes really something. And I think that, if I could keep that, then nothing else exists to me, and I could all but starve and still be sustained by leaves, or snowfall, and that the unnecessary shelter of a pine tree is as much encouragement as I need.
And, you know, sometimes I can't see a lawyer doing that.
I stumbled, here and there. My arms are tired and my eyes don't want to do the work needed to read what I'm typing. Struggle through. Everything is climbing a mountain, except watching television.
But I'm here, and that's something. Really something. Something, really. I've gotten to thinking about my future lately. Not by my own volition- well, not entirely. January is around the time graduate schools take admissions in, and law schools also.
A lawyer. I like arguing and persuading and making a point and all the different ways to say "showing my brain and tongue off" and I like logic and practice and ethics and all the other means of saying "I'm right because of my tongue and brain," and that's at the heart of lawyery.
The prospective heaps of money don't hurt either.
But tonight, outside in the snow, I put my umbrella down. I took off my hat. With nothing on or above my head, I could really see the snow falling. All of it at once, overwhelming in its unyielding uniform descent. I thought about sitting on an old railroad bridge, and watching traffic below. I thought about ponds and words and a lot of other things I like. I thought about the nameless apprehension that grasps me every now and then, when nothing bad is around.
Sometimes, without irony, I can just look up and say, "it's this miraculous love that i have for the world, miraculous," over and over, like a mantra, and everything becomes something more. It becomes really something. And I think that, if I could keep that, then nothing else exists to me, and I could all but starve and still be sustained by leaves, or snowfall, and that the unnecessary shelter of a pine tree is as much encouragement as I need.
And, you know, sometimes I can't see a lawyer doing that.