After dreading the trip for so long, picking up Graham's package from the FedEx main office was surprisingly easy. Much easier than a two-hour roundtrip into the city should be.

I don't remember what's inside the package anymore. Computer parts or something. I'm sure I'll have room in my suitcase without having to take it out of the box.

Now that it's getting nicer out — some days have already had that "let's go play Frisbee golf" feel, suddenly bittersweet now that I live here — waiting outside for a bus, or walking a few blocks, doesn't seem nearly as onerous. Also, I broke down and bought a Chicago card, and that sunk cost removes the psychological obstacle that is my inveterate thrift.

So... more trips into the Loop next term?

Spring term seems so inconsequential. Two months? Psh. I feel like I have one foot out the door already — although since I've applied for jobs in the Cities and D.C., I don't quite know where I'm headed once I get outside, lock the door, and run for the bus.

I actually bought an answering machine (digital! yes!) in case my Blue Man moment happens when I'm out of the country. Here's hoping, though for some of these jobs I have absolutely no idea what the applicant pool looks like. I could be the only one without a degree in rocketometry or something.

"Rocketometry" sounds very Gravity's Rainbow. Now there's a book I have conflicted feelings toward.

(Short version: it's not enough like the X-Files.)

As I attempted to explain to the Strategist, the process of applying for jobs has been a series of epiphanies. Realizing that — yes! — I'd love to work for the government, or some other organization that really has an effect on people's lives. And that — it's all so obvious now! — of course I want to spend my life making other people's writing better. I couldn't imagine anything more fulfilling.

For those of you who might question my editorial abilities, it really is all about hats. The hat goes on the head, you see. And you probably haven't seen me with my copy editor hat on.

I can't doubt the utility of MAPH, both in terms of the writing tricks I've learned (mostly on the side, unfortunately) and the added heft it gives my resume, but the notion that I'd continue with my graduate education, specialize in some narrow field, go deep into debt, and eventually become a professor six or seven years from now? It all seems... faintly ridiculous, actually. I can do everything I really want to do outside of academia. Integriphany.

If I change my mind on this, I owe you a story.