I ended up with 2.5 jobs. I’ll be doing 40 hours a week for the Building Project, hopefully relaxing interior cabinetry work and not climbing on our matte black metal roof. When I’m not doing BP, sleeping, eating, or on the pot I’ll be doing freelance work for some professors, namely painting a basement and working on the drawings for a house addition in New Haven. This is sort of crazy but it works out in Google Calendar so blow it, I’m going to have a try. I mourn the bloody death of my summer but this is the way adults roll—this way I won’t have that dirty, guilty feeling that comes from having fun and enjoying myself for extended periods of time.
There’s one thing I’m worried about, which is that I’m digging my New England hole deeper. On the one hand, my establishment architecture school is slowly brainwashing me into thinking that the hottest, most boutique firms are all somewhere between New York and Boston, and that the best thing possible would be to add to my East Coast network and subscribe to The New Yorker and buy a golden retriever named Ollie and get a nice compound in Hyannisport and stay here for the rest of my life. On the other hand, I sort of want to get the holy hell back to California, the part of the country that didn’t originate 200 years ago as a strange growth on Cornelius Vanderbilt’s butt.* Taking jobs here adds to scenario one—I’m getting adverse to starting over again and again—and yet how can I refuse?
*It’s really just the food and the snow.
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