Devil May Care

Guess I shouldn't click on ex-classmates' homepages. Of those that do have one. (I don't, for what could I put there?) Especially those with a phd, job in media, job in publishing (or any job at all). Yeah, here we go again. Don't go on reading if you've had enough of my whimperings.
There's this one girl, J, who's a proper scholar now, a researcher at the University of Potsdam. Got a pretty impressive homepage on Google. A dozen publications. And it doesn't ease the thing a bit (ok, it does, just a tiny bit) that I would rather do anything but research generative syntax.
You see, she's the same age as me. Among other things, we used to go to the same aerobics class at the uni. I tell you, she looked as odd there as I would, say, in a convent. Already at 20 she was like a ghost from some previous era, particularly the 18th or 19th century. So fragile and otherworldly, a close resemblance to Elizabeth Barrett-Browning.
Reading her CV and list of puclications, I had the feeling she was born to be a scholar. And now the question springs by itself, what then am I born to? To be good in bed? To know the logic of Present Perfect even if asked in the middle of the night? To have thunder thighs? To know a thousand love songs and find a matching one for every possible situation? To find spelling and punctuation mistakes everywhere I look and annoy everyone with it, without being paid for it? To doubt everyone and everything, especially my pathetic self, taking upon myself all the possible consequences of such a behavior?
You know, in some sense, I would like to be like Eva, so confident and outspoken, facing all the cruelty there's in it, knowing who she is and what she wants, and enjoying it all. On the other hand, if my love died, I think I'd go mad. (Don't you ever have such what-if thoughts? Someone dying or you being sterile? I've had them since I was a child.)

P.S. I really intend to come back with a post on Byatt's Possession, so wait for it.
P.P.S. Thinking of starting a blog in Hindi. I mean, as soon as I know enough to express myself at some basic level. How would you like that? A blog none of my friends could read. How utterly pointless and isolated.