Don't Edit Me I'm Ranting

I am having one of those "why am I doing this" moments. I don't mean "why am I blogging, right now" moments, but one something a bit more, dare I say, existential. Its more a "why am I doing this" life moments. This semester for me has been a drag. My two classes haven't been all the thrilling and I've just kind of plateaued in the care-department. Why am I doing this? Why am I working 35-40 hours a week, taking two grad classes, working in a law library (four hours a week, on Friday night)? Why am I burning my candle, such that it is, at both ends. Maybe not both ends, but at close to it. I'm lucky I'm able to keep myself as focused as I am. I'm ready for a break. I seriously thought about just taking a semester off, or just quitting my job and running away and becoming, like Jules said in Pulp Fiction "like Kane in Kung Fu and just wander the Earth." To which Vincent replies, "You mean be a bum..." Okay, I don't want to be a bum. I just need some time to think and clean out my head. I've been doing this whole school thing for a year straight. In that time, I've moved stores, helped open a new one. Work hard to make powers that be think that I'm worthy of moving up in the company, but I'm not sure they see that, care, or even look at me as being a potential candidate for such a thing. I'm tired, can you tell? Today, I got a short paper back from a professor with this written in green on the bottom: "Please go to the Writing Center and get help. You need to improve this important skill." I looked at her and said "Huh, that's the first time anyone has ever told me that." Okay, I'll admit, I threw it together, I cobbled something together, put my name on it and handed it in. Actually, I even put the wrong professor's name on the paper. Either she didn't notice or just didn't care. See, right there is my problem. I'm finding it harder and harder to really care and give a damn. I'm itching to throw in the towel and say to hell with it all, I'm taking a powder, be back next year sometime, probably May. Today, as I sat in class and listened to my professor drone on about something dealing with research I kept repeating the words "make me care. make me care." It didn't work. I didn't. I kept looking at the clock. The hands moved, slowly. I looked at my watch, slower, still. Is a Master's Degree really worth this? I'm not even sure I want to be a librarian, but I'm half-way through so I might as continue on, fighting the good fight, as they say-- whoever they might be. Maybe its this room I'm in that is causing me rant like a friggin lunatic. I'm sitting in the basement of the library. Its over lit, with too many florescent lights. Thre are two Coke Machines, a vending machine that spits out chips if you give correct change, and another small vending machine that has pain killers: Tylenol and such. There are long brown table with six brown chairs with green cushions. The carpet is the color of that old '70's beig. There is a small clock on the wall that says five til four and a rectangular sign that reads Food and drinks are not to be removed from this room-- signed the Gestapo (okay, I made that last part up, my attempt at humor, black though it may be). So here I sit, all broken hearted... oh, wait, that' somthing for the bathroom wall in a seedy establishment. No, I sit here somewhat bemused at it all. I write and rant about this, but yet, I have chosen this. In fact I love everything that's going on in my life. On my fifteen minute break yesterday, I read a couple Psalms from my little leather covered Bible I carry with me in my blue bag. I read Psalm 13 and the last verse, which I think was the nexus for this rant, really stuck with me: "I will sing to the Lord for he has been good to me." Indeed, he has. I have been blessed in many ways. I'm just tired and I'm ready for a break. I need to turn off for a while and maybe just rest.