Regrets

I took a trip up to Lincoln Square to pick up my new knife on Sunday. I took the green line to the brown line on the way up, but on the way back I decided to stop downtown and maybe get a burrito. Chipotle was closed, though, so I ended up getting a coffee at Corner Bakery. As I was walking toward the Metra (so much faster than the L) a homeless guy asked me for money. You know how it goes: start out just asking for your time, but inevitably the story works out so that you're a complete asshole if you don't help this person go to school/get to the hospital/buy a bus ticket to the rehab center. I was somewhat buzzed from the coffee, so I gave him some money (in general I think it's more effective to give to charity). As I walked away, he asked me if I'm a painter or an artist. I'm not sure why he said that (I was wearing my Selfish Hedonist shirt), but I have to admit it made me feel good. That's a bad sign, right, that I take comfort out of being confused with an artist? I think it just means that I'm happy some people still think I'm a productive member of society. Soon, though, I will be all too recognizable in my suit and tie and reasonable haircut. Then there will be no escaping the collective judgment of a jaded society.

I guess I wish I had thought hard about this early on in my college career. In all likelihood it wouldn't have helped, though; I was convinced that I would be an economist. I wouldn't have done much differently. I should have made a list of professions that would make me happy, and prepared for them, rather than wandering aimlessly like a damn fool. Law school is what happens while you're busy making other plans.