In addition, there are moments wherein external sources give one a sense of complete belonging. Like descriptions of pre-law extensions on economics majors. Yes! So I am changing my major to economics! Weird! That's what college does. It feels kind of haphazard, like a spontaneous tattoo, but fuck. Wouldn't I be more exciting with an economics degree? It's not as scintillating as, perhaps, an anthropology degree, but my mother's got three of those and she's, um, an economist. So! I like the world and business suits. I love arguing and researching and analyzing and synthesizing and predicting. Of course I am a writer. But I also need to bring down Walmart. You don't even know. Fiction means nothing if writers know nothing. I want to know! I want to determine output, income, employment, and price levels through aggregate supply and demand analysis and related graphical techniques! Do I sound like I'm trying to convince myself? Let me tell you this. I don't want to work at a fucking newspaper for the rest of my life. Not even a magazine. I like airplanes, not offices; chic food, not husbands. I can win things. I'll scare you. Allow me frozen coffee and a key to the B.A. building!
Post script: You make me feel like a secret sometimes!