I want to quit so bad

It’s midnight, the hour when the self-doubt that’s been gnawing at my toes all day finally makes its way up into my chest.

It’s midnight and because I spent the evening rediscovering ice cream, uploading pictures onto facebook and watching medieval themed dramatic television, I’m still up, still working away at LSAT questions.

The LSAT, for those lucky enough to live under rose-coloured rocks while wearing really hard glasses, is a test all Anglos in the USA and Canada must pass in order to be considered for admission to law school.

I aced it. 94th percentile. No big deal.  I destroyed that test faster than an Albertan oil pipeline can destroy pristine wetlands. (Though, not by much).

Except that then I had to go bragging off in all the wrong places, like to Kaplan test prep company, asking them for a job, also noting my outstanding employ of metaphor on my CV.

I got the job.

So now it’s past midnight and I’m desperately trying to care about some author’s critique of an art critic’s understanding of pre-WWI European painting’s possible reaction to social upheavals as a political rather than aesthetic movement.

And I’m starting to fear that I may not be smart enough for this. Maybe I can just wing my way through tomorrow’s lesson, relying on my wit and metaphorical abilities to hide the fact that I haven’t prepared.

I’m looking forward to tomorrow morning, when an empty carton of ice cream will lie, shamefully, in the trash, and the self-doubt will have returned to my toes – where they both belong.

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