The Puma Breakdown
Today I decided that I would become a lawyer.
And get a master's degree in public relations.
And become an expert on educational policy.
And take the LSATs, GREs, MATs, and my finals all by December 20th.
Incidentally, deciding all of these things in such a short period of time is hazardous to your health.
A few notes about losing your mind (aka trying to figure out what to do with your life):
1. Apparently, nobody thinks I should be a lawyer. Not one person was like, "Oh yeah, a lawyer, I can see that." Tell them I'm going to become a bum, "Oh yeah, that sounds good!" but a lawyer? No way.
Maybe they think I'm stupid, because everyone who saw me with a law school course catalog also told me, "Don't go to LAW school unless you want to be a LAWyer."
No, I'd like to be a DOCtor. Jesus.
2. The Student Union is not the place to have the breakdown.
I've never had a nervous breakdown before. Well actually, that's not true. When I was a junior in high school, my Latin teacher assigned this project to our class. We had to put together a human skeleton by cutting out these bones from construction paper. Well I couldn't figure out what was the fibula and what was the tibula, nor could I tell the arm from the leg. So I was really screwed. Well, I had a breakdown in my kitchen. My mother thought I was nuts. But I couldn't take it. All over a skeleton!
Anyhow. So today I had this breakdown, in the Student Union. And pardon me, but when I'm having this breakdown, I don't take the time to notice everyone around me, apparently watching the breakdown. Okay, so by everyone, I'm only talking the guy sitting next to us. So later tonight, I'm walking back to Warren and I stop in Campco. I'm about to get in line when this guy gets there the second I do. He goes, "Oh, go ahead, I know you're having a tough day." I gave him this weird look because how would HE know? And then he says, "I saw your episode in the GSU earlier, I was sitting next to you." OH. Apparently I had an "episode." Good lord. Now I can be labeled psychotic by some person who's never even met me. Faaaabulous.
He was nice after that though.
But still. He thought I had an EPISODE. Aren't those just for people with like seizures and Tourette's?
That reminds me of this time that I told this guy I was going to my next class, Special Ed. It was actually "Teaching Special Education," but the guy refused to believe me. So, now I have two guys walking around BU thinking that a. I have psychotic problems and "episodes," and b. I am part of the special education program at Boston University.
Disclaimer is that it's not wrong to be in either category, but let's face it, if you're not really part of a. or b., it's probably best to remain firmly in c. none of the above. Now I'm d., both. Marvelous.
3. Telling people you are having a breakdown does nothing to help you.
Try telling someone you're having a breakdown. I bet you the first thing they say is, "I'm having such a bad day too!" And then they tell you that their pet goldfish died. That kills me. I mean, your pet goldfish died. Big whoop. I bet you never even talked to your pet goldfish, but it dies and bam, suddenly you had this siginficant relationship with your goldfish (who probably, by the way, hated you because you made him swim around a tiny bowl, just back and forth back and forth every single day. And you know what really kills me? Those things the pet stores sell, that are supposed to liven the place up. That's like giving a person a one room apartment and putting a coffee table in there. THERE! Now it's not boring for the rest of your life!) But my point is, nobody really wants to hear about anybody else's breakdown. People are too busy having their own breakdowns to care about yours.
That's not to say that a few people will care. But most of them will just tell you, "Oh, you're fine," or "don't worry, it will work out," probably all the while secretly saying to themselves, "Wow I'm glad I'm not where SHE is. I'd shoot myself." OR they tell you that law school is only ONLY ONLY if you want to be a LAWyer.
4. Don't tell people WHY you're really having a breakdown.
People lose sympathy when they find out that you are a shallow and money-hungry. They really do. When people asked why I had suddenly decided to give up teaching and become a lawyer/policy expert/author/rich person, I made the poor decision to tell them the truth: it was all about the Pumas.
I'm not proud of it, but it's true.
This all began because I wanted - dare I even SAY it - two pairs of Pumas sneakers. That's right. TWO. I liked them both. I could see myself wearing a lot of stuff with each pair. Well guess what? I can't AFFORD both.
And it hit me, as I looked at the shoes, seeming sad that they wouldn't be being ordered and shipped to me, I won't EVER be able to afford Puma shoes. And then I started thinking about my Gap bill, and I realized that if I were a teacher, it would be hard to shop at Gap. As someone devastatingly told me today, "You'll have to shop at Old Navy."
Die.
Just watch me die.
Apparently, telling people that you want to enter the law profession to afford Puma sneakers is the wrong way to earn sympathy.
Who knew.
5. Don't hinge all your hopes on the parents.
A few minutes after deciding I was going to go to law school, I called my dad, the lawyer. As I figured it, I needed to take the LSATs December 4th, which left me little time to study. I needed a plan.
"Hey, can you tutor me in the LSATs?"
"Who is this?"
"Umm, your DAUGHTER."
"Elana? You're not going to be a teacher anymore?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I want Puma sneakers."
"That should make a good personal statement."
"Personal statements mean nothing without good LSAT scores. Can you help me?"
"No."
"Is that a 'no, but I'll think about it' or a 'no, you're driving me insane, shut up and get on with your life and I'll just buy you the Pumas'?"
"It's the second one, except without the part about me buying you Pumas."
That's how it went. No LSAT tutoring. Which meant no taking the LSATs on December 4th, which meant no LSATs, because the course for the February 12th LSAT already started, and no LSAT meant no law school application which meant no law school which meant no law degree which meant no high-power, high-paying job which, in the end, meant no Pumas. :(
A few hours later, he called me back. He says it was to make sure I was okay, because I seemed a little "out of sorts." In other words, I was having an episode. I, however, think that he was calling to make sure that I hadn't charged any shoes to his credit card.
"You really want to be a lawyer?" he asked.
"I don't know. Maybe."
"You really want to abandon the whole teaching thing?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"You really want those Puma shoes?"
"Yes."
"Just checking."
"I just want someone to give me a million dollars."
"Me too."
"You're my dad, you're supposed to give me a million dollars."
"Hmm. My dad must have missed that memo."
"You think you can give me a million dollars?"
"I'll get back to you."
With the million dollars scenario looking bleak, we talked for a little while about all my school stuff, about teaching and law and plans and what makes sense economically. I finally came to my decision about what I'm going to do with my life - for the next year, anyhow.
"I feel much better," I told my dad.
"Sounds like you had a pretty tough day," he said.
"You can say that again."
"Sounds like you had a pretty tough day."
I hung up with my dad after he made a few more stupid jokes like that, and then I decided to reward myself for having made such a momentous decision.
I decided to order my Puma sneakers.
I went to the website, found the exact pairs I wanted. Click. Click Click Click.
As I waited in anticipation for the page to load, I pictured walking around campus with my beautiful shoes, all peaceful with my newfound sense of calm about my future. Success, I thought, was sweet.
And then it happened. Big red letters appeared.
Sorry, this item is SOLD OUT.
And just like that, my quest for my Pumas ended.
Life. It really gives it to you sometimes.
And get a master's degree in public relations.
And become an expert on educational policy.
And take the LSATs, GREs, MATs, and my finals all by December 20th.
Incidentally, deciding all of these things in such a short period of time is hazardous to your health.
A few notes about losing your mind (aka trying to figure out what to do with your life):
1. Apparently, nobody thinks I should be a lawyer. Not one person was like, "Oh yeah, a lawyer, I can see that." Tell them I'm going to become a bum, "Oh yeah, that sounds good!" but a lawyer? No way.
Maybe they think I'm stupid, because everyone who saw me with a law school course catalog also told me, "Don't go to LAW school unless you want to be a LAWyer."
No, I'd like to be a DOCtor. Jesus.
2. The Student Union is not the place to have the breakdown.
I've never had a nervous breakdown before. Well actually, that's not true. When I was a junior in high school, my Latin teacher assigned this project to our class. We had to put together a human skeleton by cutting out these bones from construction paper. Well I couldn't figure out what was the fibula and what was the tibula, nor could I tell the arm from the leg. So I was really screwed. Well, I had a breakdown in my kitchen. My mother thought I was nuts. But I couldn't take it. All over a skeleton!
Anyhow. So today I had this breakdown, in the Student Union. And pardon me, but when I'm having this breakdown, I don't take the time to notice everyone around me, apparently watching the breakdown. Okay, so by everyone, I'm only talking the guy sitting next to us. So later tonight, I'm walking back to Warren and I stop in Campco. I'm about to get in line when this guy gets there the second I do. He goes, "Oh, go ahead, I know you're having a tough day." I gave him this weird look because how would HE know? And then he says, "I saw your episode in the GSU earlier, I was sitting next to you." OH. Apparently I had an "episode." Good lord. Now I can be labeled psychotic by some person who's never even met me. Faaaabulous.
He was nice after that though.
But still. He thought I had an EPISODE. Aren't those just for people with like seizures and Tourette's?
That reminds me of this time that I told this guy I was going to my next class, Special Ed. It was actually "Teaching Special Education," but the guy refused to believe me. So, now I have two guys walking around BU thinking that a. I have psychotic problems and "episodes," and b. I am part of the special education program at Boston University.
Disclaimer is that it's not wrong to be in either category, but let's face it, if you're not really part of a. or b., it's probably best to remain firmly in c. none of the above. Now I'm d., both. Marvelous.
3. Telling people you are having a breakdown does nothing to help you.
Try telling someone you're having a breakdown. I bet you the first thing they say is, "I'm having such a bad day too!" And then they tell you that their pet goldfish died. That kills me. I mean, your pet goldfish died. Big whoop. I bet you never even talked to your pet goldfish, but it dies and bam, suddenly you had this siginficant relationship with your goldfish (who probably, by the way, hated you because you made him swim around a tiny bowl, just back and forth back and forth every single day. And you know what really kills me? Those things the pet stores sell, that are supposed to liven the place up. That's like giving a person a one room apartment and putting a coffee table in there. THERE! Now it's not boring for the rest of your life!) But my point is, nobody really wants to hear about anybody else's breakdown. People are too busy having their own breakdowns to care about yours.
That's not to say that a few people will care. But most of them will just tell you, "Oh, you're fine," or "don't worry, it will work out," probably all the while secretly saying to themselves, "Wow I'm glad I'm not where SHE is. I'd shoot myself." OR they tell you that law school is only ONLY ONLY if you want to be a LAWyer.
4. Don't tell people WHY you're really having a breakdown.
People lose sympathy when they find out that you are a shallow and money-hungry. They really do. When people asked why I had suddenly decided to give up teaching and become a lawyer/policy expert/author/rich person, I made the poor decision to tell them the truth: it was all about the Pumas.
I'm not proud of it, but it's true.
This all began because I wanted - dare I even SAY it - two pairs of Pumas sneakers. That's right. TWO. I liked them both. I could see myself wearing a lot of stuff with each pair. Well guess what? I can't AFFORD both.
And it hit me, as I looked at the shoes, seeming sad that they wouldn't be being ordered and shipped to me, I won't EVER be able to afford Puma shoes. And then I started thinking about my Gap bill, and I realized that if I were a teacher, it would be hard to shop at Gap. As someone devastatingly told me today, "You'll have to shop at Old Navy."
Die.
Just watch me die.
Apparently, telling people that you want to enter the law profession to afford Puma sneakers is the wrong way to earn sympathy.
Who knew.
5. Don't hinge all your hopes on the parents.
A few minutes after deciding I was going to go to law school, I called my dad, the lawyer. As I figured it, I needed to take the LSATs December 4th, which left me little time to study. I needed a plan.
"Hey, can you tutor me in the LSATs?"
"Who is this?"
"Umm, your DAUGHTER."
"Elana? You're not going to be a teacher anymore?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I want Puma sneakers."
"That should make a good personal statement."
"Personal statements mean nothing without good LSAT scores. Can you help me?"
"No."
"Is that a 'no, but I'll think about it' or a 'no, you're driving me insane, shut up and get on with your life and I'll just buy you the Pumas'?"
"It's the second one, except without the part about me buying you Pumas."
That's how it went. No LSAT tutoring. Which meant no taking the LSATs on December 4th, which meant no LSATs, because the course for the February 12th LSAT already started, and no LSAT meant no law school application which meant no law school which meant no law degree which meant no high-power, high-paying job which, in the end, meant no Pumas. :(
A few hours later, he called me back. He says it was to make sure I was okay, because I seemed a little "out of sorts." In other words, I was having an episode. I, however, think that he was calling to make sure that I hadn't charged any shoes to his credit card.
"You really want to be a lawyer?" he asked.
"I don't know. Maybe."
"You really want to abandon the whole teaching thing?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
"You really want those Puma shoes?"
"Yes."
"Just checking."
"I just want someone to give me a million dollars."
"Me too."
"You're my dad, you're supposed to give me a million dollars."
"Hmm. My dad must have missed that memo."
"You think you can give me a million dollars?"
"I'll get back to you."
With the million dollars scenario looking bleak, we talked for a little while about all my school stuff, about teaching and law and plans and what makes sense economically. I finally came to my decision about what I'm going to do with my life - for the next year, anyhow.
"I feel much better," I told my dad.
"Sounds like you had a pretty tough day," he said.
"You can say that again."
"Sounds like you had a pretty tough day."
I hung up with my dad after he made a few more stupid jokes like that, and then I decided to reward myself for having made such a momentous decision.
I decided to order my Puma sneakers.
I went to the website, found the exact pairs I wanted. Click. Click Click Click.
As I waited in anticipation for the page to load, I pictured walking around campus with my beautiful shoes, all peaceful with my newfound sense of calm about my future. Success, I thought, was sweet.
And then it happened. Big red letters appeared.
Sorry, this item is SOLD OUT.
And just like that, my quest for my Pumas ended.
Life. It really gives it to you sometimes.
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