God tur!

I'm pretty sure I'm responsible for the death of a dozen or so trees at the Institute of International Education alone, not to mention the reams required to make me eligible for Norwegian residency. Then there were all those letters and brochures from Teach for America, most of which were superfluous since I have to go through the entire drill again next year. And, of course, there's the paperwork required for graduation: degree program forms, little index cards with my full name on them, loan exit papers reminding me fifty times to CONTACT MY LENDER and CONSOLIDATE, CONSOLIDATE, CONSOLIDATE. Add to that the contract I just signed giving a certain not-too-shabby national literary journal in Nebraska the rights to publish five of my poems--but hopefully not to manipulate my soul--and take a chunk out of my republication rights. I'm surprised George Clooney hasn't driven his little hybrid car right up my alley to personally throw rocks at my window. (Cut it out, George!) All this to say, it takes an awful lot of bureacracy to establish one's scholarly and/or professional credentials. Maybe I'll use some of the government's money to plant a fir tree on some Norwegian hillside. And then a decade later I can come back and hug it.