no bjork left behind

Part of me wants to support compliments on my intellect. You know, invite them and then roll around in them as if I was in one of those plexiglass chambers where you're covered in honey and dollar bills are blowing around as you try to grab as many as you can. But (1) I have a strong aversion to game show reminiscent things like hordes of people, men with orange tan skin, and fake audience applause, and (2) I am afraid I'm actually perpetuating an Ellsworth Toohey society of mediocrity by trumpeting my habit of abstruse communication all over the internet. Speaking of which, the two fictional characters from literature I think about the most are Toohey and Miss Havisham. That might say something about me.

Back to my intellect, I was raised by a professor and a teacher/librarian. My close relatives are all professors and teachers. My sister is getting her masters and teaching art. I was certain from early childhood that I would get a doctorate. In fact, I had dreams of being one of those people with multiple doctorates from multiple countries. Maybe I have senioritis, or more appropriately, super-senioritis, but I feel like I'm the apple leaping from the tree. Sometimes when I sit in classes that aren't film classes I imagine poking my eyeballs out with a fork and about how I could teach myself the same stuff from a book without having to sit in restrictive classrooms and jumping through hoops. Then I look back on my ancestry steeped in degrees (like tea but with glasses and theses) and I wonder how I could turn into such a snot-nosed kid who doesn't know what's good for her. I wasn't raised to be the bored, unengaged student in the corner! Why am I the thing that's not like the others? Then I want to poke my eyeballs out even more.

The earth may shatter after I type this, but my interest in intellectual pursuits is waning and my support of trade schools is growing. Rapidly. I don't know what this means.

help!
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