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Jon?

Quarterlife crisis.
Thursday. 1.12.12 11:55 am
“Now, what is it that you want to do with this fancy degree of yours, Jonathan?”

Placing the only water-filled glass down on the table, I turn my head away from Kells' aunt as I contemplate her question. Whilst biting the right side of my bottom lip, I look up across the table to the grizzled city prosecutor seated across from me.

“I suppose,” I begin before turning my attention back to his wife, “that I want to do good.”

She leans her body forward as if to speak, but then pauses and retreats back into her seat. With a finger pressed against the side of her chin, she looks at me with one of those thoughtful gazes. “Good,” she starts, “I believe you will… I believe you will.”

The three of us, as well as Kells, the girl who invited me to the supper, are joined
by five others: the elderly couple’s 25 year old rebellious daughter Jo and her boyfriend Hameed, Jo’s friend Yuki and Yuki’s boyfriend Samuel, a carpenter down here in Austin, Texas. Another attorney rounded out our dinner party, a friend of Kells' aunt and uncle, a.k.a. our hosts.

A recurring theme of my Fall semester involved me figuring out just what the hell I should do upon graduation.. I reckon roughly 85-90 percent of my peer students will go straight into working at a big law firm, make somewhere around 200-300 an hour (and work 60-80 hours a week) and spend their foreseeable future ensuring that the powerful corporations they represent maintain their power.

I reject such a life. Not that there is anything inherently wrong with making money; it’s just that my time is worth more to me than mere dollars. There are so many fucked up things going on in the world today for me to just turn a blind eye to and pursue capital gain above all else. As someone who recalls being fairly happy whilst living off welfare and foodstamps, eating ramen noodles and mac and cheese every night because it’s all momma could afford, I suppose I’ve got a unique perspective that many Ivy Leaguers couldn’t truly empathize with.. so, yeah.. I can do without a shitton of money. Especially if the opportunity cost is my soul.

So, in an effort to figure out just what the hell to do with my life, I’m spending my winter Trimester in Austin rather than Cambridge. I’m currently working at an anti-Capital Punishment non-profit for school credit. The work is .. depressing, but that’s another entry for another day.


How do you know if you're on the right path? Hell, how do you know if there is even a "right path" to begin with? The only thing I do know is that I don't want to be one of the thousands upon thousands of graduates who can look at the world, diagnose all the problems, and do nothing about it.

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Ophie
Thursday. 12.22.11 8:02 pm
“Hey, pal?” I say aloud. She’s a few paces ahead of me, leading us back to my home. To be honest, it kind of felt like our home by this point. “I know I said I’m only capable of producing young strapping boys like myself and all,” I continue.

She rolls her eyes.

“What is it, bay?”

“A part of me likes the idea of us having a babygirl… Ophie, short for Ophelia. From Halmet.”



“… You do know how that story ends, right?”

“… Fuck you.”

“… Isn’t that how we got into this mess to begin with?”


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Plan B
Thursday. 11.17.11 4:32 pm
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Imma show 'em something: Firemarshall Bill
Tuesday. 11.8.11 2:22 pm
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Hey, Jon. Update.
Tuesday. 11.8.11 12:20 am
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YO FUCK PARIS AND FRANCE YOU HEAR ME PAL I DONT CARE THAT YOU'RE THERE
Monday. 10.17.11 2:19 pm
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