2001-11-03 - 19:47
don't talk to me about life

So, you go to work. You sit down with a big, thick, square book and take notes and contemplate the long-term effects of western Catholicism on Voodoo ritual and practice. You do this because it's the only thing you can do. It's concrete. Pages of notes are quantifiable; loas are less slippery than most things at the moment.

(Sure, I'll go, you say amiably, having thought to yourself only hours before that the whole thing seemed like an absurdly bad idea, and you didn't mind not being invited because you absolutely wouldn't go if you were.)

You concentrate. You've got all day--and all night, of course. You're doing the work of at least two, maybe three, because of the laziness of others. You thought you'd left this behind in high school.

(There are a lot of things we thought we'd left behind in high school.)

You're Research Girl. You say it in your head in a peppy voice, the way Willow said it in the first or second season.

(I've been steadily having a complete nervous collapse for the past two months, and everyone keeps telling me I'm the sanest and most emotionally balanced person they know! You raise your voice and flip out a little to make your point.)

You go to work. It's all part of school. School is here to prepare you for real life. Real life begins upon graduation from college; it does not take place until then. Once you enter real life, you'll realize how easy you have it now.

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