My career adviser at the law school sent my boss an e-mail today. He shared it with me:
I hope we might be able to find a time to discuss Amy’s summer employment—what went well, areas where our students can improve, and how we can best help you recruit future attorneys and interns.
A fairly innocuous request. Probably. Certainly helpful information for the law school. After all, if their students are going around burning bridges, they’ll want to know. And anyway, I want to develop the relationship between the career office and the foundation. This is a great place to work.
But I have a confession: I’m a teeny, teeny bit annoyed by it.
It feels like my law school is checking up on me. Like a Mom asking if her kid played well with the other kids in kindergarten. ‘Is she social? Did she share? Did she bite Little Timmy again?’
I worked an adult job that I got on my own without any assistance from the career office, the diversity clerkship, or the law school clinics this summer. In fact, I have been working this job for over a year and a half now. So it seems a little silly to have someone checking up on me. Even for useful, research purposes.
My boss was also confused.
Because I am not a kindergartner. I am not a high schooler. I am not even a college student. I am an adult who chose a course of study through the law school. The law school is not my parent. Or my boss. It has no responsibility for me. And while I will probably laugh at my annoyance tomorrow, tonight I very much wish I could say:
“How Amy’s summer employment went is none of your business!”
(But it went well, for the record.)
I need to re-write the paper I am getting published. Or if not re-write, at least edit. Look at it. Read the feedback I’ve received from the few, trusted professors I sent it to. I’ve never been one to dread my own writing before.
But I will be honest, few things rank higher on my list of things I want to avoid.
The paper has to be at least somewhat good, right? A prestigious, academic journal wants to publish it. I don’t doubt my own content. I love the subject. But this paper…
I hated writing it. I hated researching it. I constantly felt pressured and stressed. The feedback I got from the law review editors as I wrote it made me cry. A lot. I remember my early, shiny attitude where I assumed all the warnings about how we would come to hate our chosen topics were nonsense. How could I hate a topic I chose with such care?
But oh, how I hate the topic now.
And yet I don’t. I still think the case was great. I think my paper will prove a solid addition to the scholarly literature. In my head, I can see no reason this paper should fill me with more dread than any other paper I have written. I send my work to my boss regularly for feedback and only feel minorly miffed when he cuts 98% of it.
So, as you can see, I am quite irrational in my dread. But there it is. Dread because the paper reminds me of one of the most miserable portions of my life.
And that is what I think it comes down to. I don’t want to deal with this paper because I wrote it while juggling—and dropping—way too many things. So even now, in a theoretically calmer time of life, all I can think of is, ‘oh shoot, what am I not doing because I’m sitting down to work on this thing?’
I consider one of the perks of working at a small, non-profit legal foundation that I get to do a little bit of everything. I handle communications, blog for the website, research briefs, write memos, and deliver final copies of the work to the clerk of courts.
Most recently, I’ve been handed the task of figuring out grant writing. It is a bit intimidating. But fun.
Today I finished reading my 7th book on grant writing and non-profit fundraising. For someone who has thus far succeeding in bringing in $0, I sure feel like an expert. Hopefully some of this research will pay off. (Literally and figuratively!)
When I moved in to my new apartment, my wonderful Mother put contact paper and most of the shelves. She left a few to me. I decided to stop pushing it off and tried to paper some tonight. It went… less well.
The thing is, I am not a big fan of this whole measuring thing. Or cutting. I once won the “Measure Once Cut Fifteen Times” award on a mission trip.
Which is to say, if you ever come over, the shelves with fitting paper are my Mom’s work.
I achieved a whole new level of Broke College Student™: I cannot afford WiFi. And I am here to tell you…it hasn’t been as bad as I expected.
Sure, only accessing the web via data on my phone has its downsides. Namely, every time I try and access the web. But it also means I spend a lot more time reading. At least, this last week my reading experienced a noticeable uptick. (Which is obviously unrelated to the fact that I was avoiding unpacking my kitchen boxes…)
(The only thing I have totally unpacked right now are my books. They just mostly happen to be on the floor since I cannot afford bookshelves.)
No worries. My parents help me with necessities and eventually my student loans will kick in (bringing with it the needed money for WiFi.) Until then, I do without. (Which, theoretically, should inspire me to get more unpacking done. But you know, all those books scattered across the room with no one to read them….)
As I mentioned in an earlier post or two, part of my job at work involves updating the Foundation’s blog. I actually quite enjoy it. But I realized, the fact that I blog on Fernweh’s Call every day has given me a skewered perception of what is “normal” for a healthily updated blog.
For example, my work’s blog is accessible through the website and the website lists the most recent 8 or so posts with links to get there. I seriously over-analyze how recent those 8 posts should be. Is it okay to have one from May? Should they all be June and July? Or just July? Can July have a few more posts than June? Or should I evenly space out posts so I don’t post more than 4 a month?
But when you are used to writing 30-31 posts a month, 4 sure seems weak!
I think I am going to go stalk all the organizations like us and see how often they post.
We’ve run into a bit of a backlog with consistently updating the blog at work. Thus, my main role today involved back-dating posts to reflect updates we previously sent out to our subscribers.
The thing is, it didn’t occur to me till I was halfway through the project that I don’t follow our blog and I have no idea if everyone who does gets an e-mail when I backdate something.
In other words, a whole bunch of people might have an inbox right now that looks something like this:
- Foundation to file join as intervenor in case (January)
- Foundation submits motion to join as intervenor in case (February)
- Foundation receives permission from Supreme Court to join as intervenor to case (March)
- Foundation files brief as intervenor in case (April)
- Foundation files reply brief as intervenor in case (May)
- Update on Foundation case (June)
Update: Good news. We don’t actually have subscribers to our blog.
Bad news. Just found out we don’t actually have subscribers to our blog.