It’s my fourth year of college and am I ready to bust out of this joint! My jeans are wearing out, only two pairs without holes, I’m paying to do work I normally get paid to do and, worse yet, I perpetually feel impoverished.
No, not broke like a lack of ready money – although I do feel that too. I mean impoverished: To be at a point where the one commodity that we all have and trade with on a regular basis, is the one thing that I don’t have enough of. I constantly am frittering away this commodity to finish pointless academic papers, to write another by-law that will be meaningless in 6 months, to read the work of somebody else rather then creating my own. The commodity? Time.
Time is bizarre and unruly. I spent seven years of my life working on a single poem that was only a page long. And I’ve spent less than a week on a 2,500 word (6 1/3 pages) paper. The returns on these investments? Heartbreak and an A-, respectively.
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I had a great idea last night: I’ve decided to auction off the poem along with two others on eBay - their common theme is that The New Yorker rejected them all. There it is, item #7011746033. Over seven year’s worth of my time starting off at $3.00 (plus shipping and handling). It’s strange seeing them on the block like this but the lack of bids are a good check for my ego.
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