Monday, Sept. 06, 2004 - 7:11 p.m.

It's a cliche: questioning my life after school. Curriculums that once guided my life are now sad sketch adjectives I use to describe what I should do. "Well, I majored in English with a focus on Rhetoric and Professional Writing" is a pretty hollow way to define myself, but sometimes I feel it's all I have.

It was supposed to be a starting point, and it opens up so many possibilities. I don't know what to do with what the degree and my experiences have taught me. And in short, I'm disappointed. Twenty four years and just more questions to show for it.

Promise can be a burden as much as a gift. Society, and more importantly, everyone you know expects you not to break it.

I'm talented, and it's not arrogant to admit it. It is daunting to know that your alleged talent can only get you a life that is not very satisfying as a whole. It's living day to day, which isn't supposed to be the fruits of Western civilization. We are supposed to live in a country where I can do things as opposed to having them done to me. The subject rather than the object. Again my degree rears its ugly head.

As does the question of "What happens next?"

And still, I don't have an answer I want to hear.

And it’s a strange condition,
A day in prison,
It’s got me out of my head
And I don’t know what I came for.

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