October 03, 2009

Dark Clouds Brewing

Exactly one year ago, I lamented the passing of my youth, lost forever down a (plastic) bottle of substandard alcohol. Not much has changed since then. And though today I am certainly a year older, and most likely, one dumber as well, the subject of my (much regretted) appearance on this planet is not one that is on my mind today. Instead, even as the continuing farce that is my existence barrels on towards ultimate obscurity and irrelevance, I did see a last this week that carries some significance—at least as much significance as is possible in a life so completely devoid of intrinsic meaning.

This past week was very likely my last first day of school ever. Absent a catastrophic failure (of the academic variety—the rest, I assure you dear readers, are certain to occur), I will finish up law school in approximately nine months, and once again be thrown into the dark abyss of reality from which I have been gleefully hiding the past two odd years. I know I should be feeling something—after all, much of my life for approaching three decades has been dedicated to education. But the emotions such an event should conjure in my mind—excitement, nostalgia, a hint of sadness—none of these is what I feel today. Instead, it is a unsettling combination of weariness, disbelief, boredom, and liminal anxiety that consumes me on this breezy autumn morning.

June 2010 seems simultaneously very close yet painfully far off. I have another year of law school left? Am I really ready for another nine months of that? I barely feel like I got any time off at all this summer (and truth be told, that is precisely correct). And yet, I only have one year of law school left? After that, it is again into the real world I go, in a vastly worse economic climate than my first go-around in 2005, and when the stakes are significantly higher. The prospect of grad school is no longer an escape hatch should I get unlucky, bored, or some terrible combination thereof. Been there, done that—and, in fact, have lots of debt to show for it.

And if all that was not enough, the countdown has begun on my time in Chicago. Regardless of what else happens, almost certainly come this time next year, I will be elsewhere. Where has my time here gone? It was just about two years ago that I moved here from San Francisco. All of it seems like a blur. Law, bars, restaurants, blizzards, pizza, more blizzards, more bars, more law—was that it? Was that my life in Chicago? Will I even be able to say I lived here once I leave, or will my only points of reference be loathsome Hyde Park and solitary stumbles home from shitastic bars at night?

Analogizing to a similar time in my life—2004–2005—perhaps I have precious little to fear. My senior year in college, after all, was quite memorable and, dare I say, even happy (insofar as I am capable of such emotions). And if the first week of this quarter is any indication, my last year of law school may shape up to be similarly so. But amidst all the rockin' and ragin' is a pervasive feeling of disinterestedness that has settled upon me like the dark rain cloud of melancholy that already follows me where ever I go.

Class no longer engages me the way it did in years past, and journal is quickly becoming the proverbial albatross around my neck. With each new trip to Hyde Park, a little bit of me dies, both literally and metaphorically. I am struggling to find the motivation to read, write, study, or engage in really any productive activity whatsoever. Even small tasks require extraordinary amounts of self-coaxing to accomplish. Perhaps this is simply a phase from which I will emerge soon. But perhaps not. As reality looms ahead on the horizon and the sun sets on my time in Chicago, I certainly hope it is the former. Then again, I would probably do well to remember a famous quote on days like these.