Please Don't Emanate in the Penumbras.

It's funny 'cuz it was a bad ruling. *ahem* Just a little Constitutional humor there, folks.

Had another existential crisis this morning, although this time I managed to avoid wailing and gnashing of teeth. At one point I did bury my head in a pillow. This is, let's face it, a step down on the Crazy Meter. I think it's a sign of personal growth.

Most of this morning's breakage down was caused by the fact that the semester's almost over, and while I have narrowed my life's goals down to two main trajectories (well, three if you could Marry Prime Minister, Preferably One of An English Speaking Country French Sucks, but that one's not really a career goal per se), I am no closer to picking one, and they are such that you have to pick just one. Unless I want to go around like that guy in the TNT movie The Librarian collecting graduate degrees. Which I don't. That seems like an awful lot of work.

So my mom was putting up with helping me talk through some things, when we got to the crux of my issue. I want to go to law school. But I don't want to be a lawyer.

Well, except a judge. I think that would be pretty cool. Mom shook her head and suggested, correctly, that I'd only be happy being an appellate court judge, because criminals and other plebeians? Eww.

So I'm all, well, yeah, but you don't get to be appointed to those positions until you're like, EIGHTY!!! (I think this is when I collapsed onto the pillow.) And then she's all, no, that's not always true, look at [Chief Justice] Roberts!

Um. Okay. Let's, shall we?

I suppose that if you lead a charmed life in which it appears God is grooming you to become, I don't know, a freaking PROPHET or something, it's no big deal with ascend to the highest judicial office in the Western world before your voice changes. with like, ZERO experience, I might add. I've been working at Borders longer than he's been on the bench, but whatever. As usual, nobody asked me.

Those of us who didn't rise fully formed from a pile of fairy dust might have to toil in anonymity for awhile longer. At least through puberty maybe.

So I got no closer to a resolution, but I did manage to make myself feel like a failure.

On second thought, this doesn't look like so much fun. Unless the private conference on Friday is BYOB, I'd take the week off, boys.

Maybe I will have to marry a Prime Minister.

This has nothing to do with anything (SOMETIMES they do, shut up), but yesterday morning I hauled myself up four flights of stairs at 7:30 to listen to an effete, underpaid librarian talk about fake illuminated manuscripts. Which you could tell he was trying VERY hard to make himself feel good about. At one point, he goes, "There are only three (more than one) facsimiles (fakes) in good condition (many more in varying other conditions) in the Upper Midwest (Wisconsin)."

So there are a tons of good fakes in the state. But we've got one of them!

Ugh. This is why art history isn't one of my two major trajectories.