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and i need more. could i be more vague?
Another Sunday. I think that I do like Sundays best.
And fall, I like fall best, no matter what I might say about spring. In some ways they are the same, though, the brief seasons, the fleeting ones, made all the sweeter by their brevity, and what they signify. Summer lazes and winter lingers. Fall is the gasp and spring the exhale. I think I am perhaps excessively taken with seasonal symbolism.
It is the best time of year for walks, the air brisk but still. I have this stubbornly romanticized notion of farms. Of good old houses, the kind with porches. Or yes a ranch in Montana, but a farm in New England satisfies much the same need. And here in my New Hampshire town it is New England all over, Robert Frost’s New England, all stone walls and creeks and farmlands and winding roads. The mornings smell of new cold and bonfires. It makes me want to knit, and listen to Bach, and drink tea.
I sort of hate that I have to apply to law schools now; I’d rather focus on my job, on my present, something I’m not terribly good at, and besides that applying makes my future a near-tangible reality, one I’m financially invested in at that, how can I not be bothered by passing uncertainties? It isn’t that I’m unsure of whether I want to study law; I do, no question. I’m perhaps more committed to becoming a lawyer now, as I grow more cognizant of the good that can be done, the need there is. But being a lawyer means not being anything else, and that is the part I’m having difficulty with.
I miss school, is the thing. And if I were in school, I’d miss the structure of full-time work. I never am satisfied, is the real thing.
I miss my friends. No qualifiers there. Four years was too short to learn you in. Four years was not enough time.
And fall, I like fall best, no matter what I might say about spring. In some ways they are the same, though, the brief seasons, the fleeting ones, made all the sweeter by their brevity, and what they signify. Summer lazes and winter lingers. Fall is the gasp and spring the exhale. I think I am perhaps excessively taken with seasonal symbolism.
It is the best time of year for walks, the air brisk but still. I have this stubbornly romanticized notion of farms. Of good old houses, the kind with porches. Or yes a ranch in Montana, but a farm in New England satisfies much the same need. And here in my New Hampshire town it is New England all over, Robert Frost’s New England, all stone walls and creeks and farmlands and winding roads. The mornings smell of new cold and bonfires. It makes me want to knit, and listen to Bach, and drink tea.
I sort of hate that I have to apply to law schools now; I’d rather focus on my job, on my present, something I’m not terribly good at, and besides that applying makes my future a near-tangible reality, one I’m financially invested in at that, how can I not be bothered by passing uncertainties? It isn’t that I’m unsure of whether I want to study law; I do, no question. I’m perhaps more committed to becoming a lawyer now, as I grow more cognizant of the good that can be done, the need there is. But being a lawyer means not being anything else, and that is the part I’m having difficulty with.
I miss school, is the thing. And if I were in school, I’d miss the structure of full-time work. I never am satisfied, is the real thing.
I miss my friends. No qualifiers there. Four years was too short to learn you in. Four years was not enough time.
no subject
Yes, I think that's the irony of life: the grass really does seem greener on the otherside no matter which side you're on.