  My whole life I have been waiting. Not for any one big thing, I have spent my time waiting, rather, for many small insignificant things. The first day of my junior year of high school. The Junior State of America (JSA) conference in Spokane, WA in late fall. Going to see a movie with one of my few friends. I waited for high school graduation (which thankfully came a year early for me as I did everything I could to get out of that god-awful place). Then I wait until my trip to europe. then I waited until college graduation, when I would finally be able to break up with Mr. Kaleb without guilt. (though the guilt came any way and still rears its head from time to time). Then I waited for the summer to be over, for my LSAT scores to come. For my applications to be finished. For law schools to send me their decisions. Then for law school to start. And then for the end of my first year, which I thought would never come. And now that is has, now I can't wait for summer to end.
So it is Monday, and I am waiting for the weekend to roll around. This saturday the Firm is taking the summer associates to Disneyland, which despite my jaded outlook, my cynicism and sarcasm; I am actually looking forward to. I love rollercoasters. Anyway, back to my habit of wait. This weekend disneyland, but when there is nothing to do on the weekends, I wait impatiently for monday to arrive, grateful for the return to work as a chance to occupy the empty space in my moral life.
I am afraid of being alone so I need specific tasks, definite goals, hard plans, in order to mask the vast stretches of time I spend on my own. Not that I am ever really on my own. I am constantly surrounded by masses of people. The over-crowded freeways in the morning. The hum of the office chatter during the day. The polite conversation I barely manage while waiting for the elevator. The long lunches spent desperately trying to cover up how little I care about these people. And why should I care since they can barely bring themselves to mask how little they care about me? Then back amidst the stop-and-go traffic, the convertible top down so as to better take in the swarm of humanity I am drowning in.
For an hour or two I may be in my apartment alone, but the sounds of from the street barge in through my window. Later my roommate will arrive. I won't usually speak to him, not because I dislike him, just because we do not have much to say to one another. But his presence is still felt. He talks to his friends and family on the phone. Maybe his girlfriend. I have never bothered to ask if has one. And if all of this human contact hasn't cured my of my loneliness I have my books to keep me company. Yet despite all of this. I am afraid. And alone. And if I had some poetic or musical talent I might use this to my advantage: I sit in one of the dives On Fifty-second Street Uncertain and afraid As the clever hopes expire Of a low dishonest decade: Waves of anger and fear Circulate over the bright And darkened lands of the earth, Obsessing our private lives; The unmentionable odour of death Offends the September night.
That's Auden. The first stanza from urlLink September 1, 1939 . A truly great poem. Some people like to put fluffy kittens and inspirational quotes from important persons, or daytime television hosts in their offices. I posted September 1, 1939. I really should place it on the door, but that might be a little too offensive to the other office workers.
So instead, it’s on my wall above my desk. For those of you bothering to read this, but not bothering to click on the link and read the whole poem, the particularly offensive stanzas are: Into this neutral air Where blind skyscrapers use Their full height to proclaim The strength of Collective Man, Each language pours its vain Competitive excuse: But who can live for long In an euphoric dream; Out of the mirror they stare, Imperialism's face And the international wrong.
. . . . .
From the conservative dark Into the ethical life The dense commuters come, Repeating their morning vow; 'I will be true to the wife, I'll concentrate more on my work,' And helpless governors wake To resume their compulsory game: Who can release them now, Who can reach the dead, Who can speak for the dumb? And I do mean offensive because Auden was criticizing the emptiness of modern life. He wanted to the reader to be shocked and offended because we only take offense we were being implicated.
And let’s face of it, most of us do lead empty lives and will find no solace in our meaningless work, work devoid of value because it touches no one, helps no one, creates no community, furthers no human connection. Except for the literary allusions, which I happen to believe are detractions, it is a wonderful poem. And allusions or not it is worlds better than anything i could ever write. Well. with that, I am back to my fake world of friends: my current book, a mystery novel written by one of my professors. Sadly, the book is really quite good. I say sadly because I don't really want to like the man after the rudeness he showed me last semester. But, no, the book is really quite good, and again much better than anything I will ever write. Sigh... At least it has stopped getting so chilly at night. Too bad Mr. David did not call as promised. Fuck them all. 
