The existential question and the hungry fish

My girlfriend got a new job, meaning there's actually some money coming into the house for a change. However, she's out of town all the time and I really miss her. I didn't expect it to get at me so much because I am pretty fond of my space; without it, I get pretty cranky. I'm discovering that when I am busy with school 14 hours a day and then come home to an empty house that it doesn't help my mood much either. This sucks. I also have to remember to feed the fish, which is harder than you would think, because they can't get out of the tank and come get me. The cats, on the other hand, let me know in no uncertain terms when it's time to break out the kitty cereal. I don't know how they get so excited about this same shit out of a 25 pound bag every day but when you wake up with a cat on your chest staring at you, particularly when it's a really old cat who gets gas, you know that the kibble is, in fact, quite important.

So, the million dollar question isn't whether I've fed the fish. Oops, there's one floating. Dammit. And there's a cat on my head. But I think he just wants the fish. But back to the million dollar question - if (when!!) I become a lawyer, do I have to work 70 hours a week, or do people just do that because they're psycho type A workaholics? Am I selling my life and my sanity and ever being in a good mood or hanging out with my girlfriend at a decent hour again? I keep meeting lawyers and asking them how much they work, hoping someone will give me a reasonable answer, but never happens. Don't get me wrong - I'm willing to work hard, I just want to do something other than work with my life. I can see it now: I'm 82 and all crusty in some smelly nursing home hoping somebody who doesn't give a fuck will a. show up and b. not steal my meds and looking back on my life, seeing that I pissed away my youth in bars, was productive for a couple years, went to law school and pissed away the rest of my life in an office, then suddenly not caring if the lazy ass nurse shows up with my meds, because fuck it, somebody should have a good time. Whether or not we only get one life (which makes little sense to me - I mean really, just one shot and that's it? that's cold.) I only get one life as me and am trying to get through the remainder of it with a modicum of happiness. I don't know. Maybe I should get out while I can and go back to being a marginally employed hippie. Or maybe I should just shut up, feed the fishes and go to school. We all make our choices, man, and besides, what else do I have to do today? My girl won't be home for another three days and I'm cranky enough.