Because I haven't learned well enough the lesson of not living with english department superstars, my future roommate, current friend, and now former essay writing peer has landed herself a reading at one of the bookstores in Lawrence, and my happiness for her is completely consumed by my overwhelming feelings of total failure as a writer and, as such, a human being.
I always felt like we had always started off from the same point - we lived next door to each other in the dorms, both honors students, took similar classes, and even worked at the paper the same semester - and she has blossomed throughout college into this incredibly put together, polished, highly esteemed member of the english department society, and i - i am signing on to take another year of college partially because I really genuinely want to get another degree, and partially because I still have no direction in life whatsoever.
But at least i made sure to quit IHOP in good standing, a feat rare amongst former wearers of the blue apron, so I always have that to fall back on. And if i keep repeating to myself that David Rakoff and David Sedaris both worked as christmas elves before they ever became writers, I can pretend like i still have some sort of a chance.
2 comments:
Fuck that overachiever. Fuck her right in the ass. :)
(To the overachiever: this isn't about you, it's about Cara. You just happen to be in the way. Sorry)
(To Cara: You might want to delete this comment)
I enjoy you and she's writing for entirely different reasons. And, (just between you and I) I've always enjoyed cynicism more anyway.
KEEP WRITING.
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