Decisions Part 5: Penultimate

And still no decisions.

There are still moments when I think I have it. That I want to do what I want to do, and that is to learn, and so I should stop dicking around and send the letter I've printed out and see about getting into a decent history graduate program.

These moments are followed by the other kind of moment. When I mentally shake myself and come back to the simple truth that while I may want, deep in my heart, to do something else, if I don't go to law school -- this law school, now -- I will always harbor a regret about it.

This is usually followed by a short, calm interval, in which I say to myself, with no small amount of relief, that I've faced up to the facts about me, and that is that. Going.

Nipping on the heels of that blessed lucidity is the thought that I know it's not the thing I'd most want to do in the world, but it's only three years, and after that, I can do what I really want to do. Wait. What I really want to do? For fuck's sake, why can't I just do that now? Life is short. I could die of a brain aneurysm my first year of law school. Or get hit by a bus the day before graduating.

What was it I want to do again?

And then the final movement swells up from the orchestra pit, and I just want to decide, fer cryin' out loud, just decide. Decide and stop feeling nauseated because I'm strrrreeeesssed about the Biiiiig Deciiiiiision.

Then I start digging around for a coin.

Huh.

Best two out of three.

Really?

Five out of five tosses say that I'm not going.

Is the coin weighted on one side?

Right. Write you tomorrow.