Truth be told and new journal entry philosophies aside, Carmine had begun to feel worthless. The weight of her decision not to specialize, to study “interdisciplinary” subjects because she “cared,” was starting to wane against the slew of close-minded successes on her LinkedIn feed—
Congratulate Andy Blithe on his new internship with Merrill Lynch, never mind the fact he’s only there because his great aunt made a fortune selling artificial cheese slices wrapped in plastic. Never mind the economic power of machines that create a non-nutritious synthetic imitation of coagulated baby-cow-growth-formula which is highly perishable, and then encase it in a highly permanent non-decomposable petroleum-derived material that will be considered disposable by the unwitting consumer of the fake cheese, and therefore will be thoughtlessly discarded by the cheese-eater and eventually come to rest in the ground or the ocean for all eternity, leaching endocrine disruptors back into the food cycle—deep breath—yeah, never mind the fact that our society considers all that more valuable than writing down a good story—never mind all that. Congratulate Andy on his LinkedIn wall, Carmine.
That was the way her mind had begun to turn all too often. Smith’s invisible hand fit her worldview like OJ’s fit the glove. […]
— (There’s 200 more pages where that came from!)