Ramona Quimby, Age 26

I don't know if it's being in third year, the family stuff, living in gastown, not having friends close by or what, but lately I've been extra melancholic. And you know what that means: a distant tidal wave of depression is gaining momentum deep under the surface, waiting to crash against the newly structured shores of my psyche.

I suppose it's all of the above, my looming birthday (By the way, how can I possibly be turing 26?.... but I'm not where I wanted to be at 26!! Gad).

I am also growing skeptical of the "You are so lucky to be where you are! Good for you! What a great career you are going to have! You have it all, kid!" comments. Because what do they even mean? I don't feel that way! I don't feel accomplished, capable, or like I have the world by the tail at all. If anything, I have the world by the shoe horn.

And - ok fine I'll mention it - law. Ugh.

Law.

Shit.

I don't know why I have such disdain for the law. I mean I like it; I enjoy law school and stuff, but there is a block there. A serious block. After this summer I thought I would be right on par with the whole career thing and boom! everything I started to become ok with was gone. Now apathy has taken over where ambition once was and I find myself back in the old familiar patterns. Patterns like sleeping till noon, procrastinating till ten, eating at midnight and tossing until three; feeling sorry for myself, indulging in nostalgic strolls along the pages of old journals, scored to the despondent favorites of a younger me.

I can't help but appreciate the similarities, though, between this me and the Chutes Too Narrow me: still at angst, still restless, still unhappy with this ol' self. How can that be? I mean, really. I'm almost Anna M. Stuffco, Age 26, B.A., J.D., WTF!

Have I fallen short, then, of what those numbers and letters are supposed to bestow upon me? I guess I have. So ok, that's a). That's the first problem I have with the above.

Hold the phone.

I just realised what's so funny about that - I've actually let myself buy into this grandiose idea that those numbers and letters are supposed to mean something. Supposed to mean something to others, sure, but to me? Haha that's almost hilarious. In my own head, I am still that same old frump: too young, too slow, too different, too brown; not enough point, not enough brain, not enough concentration.

How is that possible. How could I possibly feel the exact same way I felt at 6 when the first pangs of self-consciousness set in and the awareness of "wait a minute, Charlie..." began to take root. That's just, like, some Benjamin Button's shit right there.

If you'll continue to allow me to indulge (btw- I am completely aware no one is reading this but sometimes speaking in the third person helps, like Jimmy) this brings me to my next problem with myself: what's with all the narcissistic, self-absorbed, egocentric blather that laps up my inane, self-effacing drivel? I really don't dig that I really don't dig myself sometimes. Like, get the fuck over it for Christsake!

I'm trying to be better about it all, I really am. I quit smoking, I am working out 4x/week regularly, and really, really trying to be better. And look... barley any swears today! Spoken like a true, privileged little shit.

But I just feel like I don't belong here, in this beautiful apartment, in this beautiful city, at this great law school, at this lovely computer, doing this; like there's a me in there waiting to burst out and be happy and love what I do and who I am. But that isn't going to happen today.  It's a long, tough haul... isn't it?

Isn't it.