When it comes to life I like to savor it by the minute so it was with some trepidation that I formally committed myself to graduate school last week. Yes — even though I have wanted nothing more than to be done with college from the instant the doctors surgically removed me from my mother’s tiny womb, I am going to grad school.
Actually, I couldn’t be more excited. I’ve been rejected from four jobs now and have yet to hear from 22. Even though the AP rejected me with a personal phone call from the Dallas bureau chief (which, according to the New Yorker hierarchy of rejection, is a very favorable way to be rejected), that fact does not career make.
Who knows where these crazy economic winds will take us, friends. For me, it’s back to NYC, where I can spend another year eating oatmeal, reading The Chronicle of Higher Education and complaining about finals.
And that is my 10-month plan.