It's odd. Sometimes, in the throes of insominia, I think about getting what I want. I want to pass the bar. To be a licensed, practicing lawyer. But then I wonder. What if I get exactly what I want. Will I want it then?
Spend 10-12 hours of day, day after day, wasting away behind a faux oak desk and artificial light as a fungible revenue generator for some fucking goliath of a firm. A corporate slave.
Working for some fucker whose only talent was being too fucking lazy, or absurdly unambituous, that he waited everyone else out and now he's partner. Fuck. Have the huge house that you never spend anytime in. The sweet car that sits in traffic during your fucking commute and a wife and children that you don't even know because you spend all of your waking hours thinking up new and inventive ways to kiss your boss's ass and move up the corporate ladder. As if it fucking matters. Welcome to your abomination of a fucking life.
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