Spreading the holiday cheer

If you follow this blog (and if you're reading these words, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that you do), this post will contain absolutely nothing that you don't already know. However, since I didn't get Christmas cards out to everyone on my list, due to laziness and/or lack of addresses, here's the news in letter form, which you may or may not have missed out on...

The fridge is stocked with egg nog, the Nutcracker Suite is blasting from the stereo, and the Christmas tree has reclaimed its rightful place as the focal point of the living room. It must be that time again, time to look back on the year and report.
The year started off with the promise of hope and change, which we certainly embraced. For me, it was the last semester of law school. It passed in a blur, I suspect because I set my brain to auto pilot and fended off professorial interrogation by slouching stealthily behind my laptop screen. On May 17, surrounded by family and friends, a couple of scholarly geezers handed me my Juris Doctrate and sent me on my way with the anticlimactic understanding that my hard earned degree meant absolutely nothing until I passed the bar exam. Determined to reach its tentacles of misery into my life for as long as possible, law school continued for me until the middle of July, as I spent my days in the law library, engaging in the ultimate cram session: relearning everything I did or should have learned in law school for the bar exam. When I wasn't banging my head against walls of legal theory, I agonized over bleak job prospects, and began to get a little concerned when I started getting rejections for jobs I hadn't even applied for. One day, while skimming the want ads on the wonderful list of Craig, I found an opening for job as a civil litigator in Portland that sounded promising. I never, ever saw myself going into private practice, but desperation makes people do crazy things. After a few interviews came those magical words: "You're hired." Armed with the security of a firm offer, I was able to take the Oregon bar under marginally less stressful conditions, and even managed to pass the beastly exam. In October I became a card carrying ambulance chaser at last! The jury is still out on whether all the effort was worth it.
To speed the process of repressing my memories of law school and the bar exam, Scott and I grabbed a couple of backpacks and headed off for a grand adventure, European style. We spent two weeks trekking through Spain, Italy, and France, seeing the sights, wandering around more lost than not, and loving every minute of it. If any of you have any burning questions about how to ride the trains, or which hostel in Barcelona is the scariest, give us a call and we'll fill you in on all the dirt. I'm happy to say we made it two weeks abroad without being mugged or losing our travel documents, which in my mind was a major accomplishment. Although Scott did get interrogated by the police on a night train from Italy to Spain. Some people just look suspicious, I suppose.
Immediately upon our return to Oregon, we packed up all our earthly possessions and moved up the road to Portland. The new job necessitated a change of address, because really, who wants to spend two hours each day commuting on I-5 between Portland and Salem? The answer is no one. In the spirit of starting fresh, Scott also sought out new employment in Portland, and after interviewing with several banks for managerial positions, he accepted a transfer with Bank of America to a Portland branch. He is currently training to become an assistant manager. In addition to his aspirations for power positions in the financial sector, he is also eagerly anticipating, and diligently preparing for a triumphant return to the classroom in pursuit of an MBA. I suppose it's only fair that I too should experience the thrill a minute life of spouse to an overworked grad student. At least he knows I'll be sympathetic.
Survey says 2009 was a big winner. I am inclined to agree. In fact, as highlights go, I'm fairly certain we'll be hard pressed to have a better year. If I abruptly retire from the holiday newsletter scene in 2010, you'll know it's because my adult life of work and more work has become too boring to merit mention. We wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Nothing brings the Christmas spirit quite like...

"Dear Student,
For 126 years the Willamette University College of Law has educated, served, and led with dedication and distinction. We could not continue to thrive as we do without ongoing support from alumni like you. Your gift to the College of Law Fund preserves the variety of programs and opportunities that distinguish Willamette from other law schools.
In this season of giving, I hope you will take a moment to make a calendar year-end gift to the College of Law Fund.
Plan to contribute by December 31st to receive the tax benefit for 2009.
DONATE NOW
Many thanks and warm wishes for the Holidays"

The alumni donation solicitation email I just received from the law school from which I just graduated, 7 short months ago. Never mind the fact that it's incredibly presumptuous of them to think anyone in the class of '09 even has a job in this tanking economy. Never mind the fact that I hated every last second I spent in that soul crushing mental sweat shop. Never mind the fact that even with a job, I am broke beyond all reason because my student loan bill hovers around $1000 a month. It is my firm and unwavering stance that my mental anguish and emotional distress, and oh yes, the $30,000+ I paid in tuition each year should more than cover my expected contribution to my alma mater. Just to be clear, you will never, ever, ever get another penny from me, ever, so please take me off your "Potential Donor" list, and file me away under the "Disgruntled and Traumatized Former Student We Should Leave Alone" list. And a Happy New Year to you too.

My expert legal advice

Jim Carrey's beleaguered attorney in "Liar, Liar" is one of my all time favorite characters. And on days like today, when the phone is ringing off the hook with people making poor life decisions, I often find myself wishing I could dispense the same sage advice he does when he goes on his truth-telling rampage. STOP BREAKING THE LAW!!!!

Masters of the universe

For the last three years, I tried my darndest to be a walking public service announcement of the perils of higher education. Alas, the one closest to my insanity is the one who seems to have learned the least from my mistake. At this very moment our apartment is quiet. The silence is punctuated only by the clacking of laptop keys and the occasional heavy sigh. Scott is studying for the GMAT. And I'm getting a taste of what it must have been like to live with a test-crazed lunatic for three months. I imagine this is a prelude to what grad school will be like from the vantage point of the long-suffering spouse. We're all about equality in this marital partnership, with academic achievement being no exception, but really, why would anyone voluntarily subject themselves to what will surely be a spectacularly awful brain blasting stress fest after having lived through it vicariously already? I'm not entirely sure, but here we are: perpetual study mode, only the roles of participant and witness have been reversed. Props to you, my tenacious husband. Just be glad the MBA program is only two years.

...and the human response

Do you ever wonder what possesses people to do some of the things they do? Like incessant knuckle cracking, for instance, or compulsive hair twisting (that's me). Or perhaps leaving bags of dog poo on their own door step? I, too, have often pondered this mystery. Our next door neighbors seem like okay people. They're a young, childless couple, which already scores them bonus points in my eyes, having previously shared an interior wall with a young couple and their ever-screaming newborn. But our new neighbors have a dog. A pug, to be exact. Fortunately, the dog is quiet, so I never really fretted too much over their having it...until a few weeks ago. I started noticing small, green plastic bags sitting next to our neighbors' front door, which, in our shared entryway, is incidentally about two feet away from our front door. The bags would usually appear in the morning, and were usually gone by the time I got home from work. The bags were always tied off though, so we were unable to identify their contents. Scott and I, evoking the spirit of Billy Madison, joked that they were probably bags of poo. After all, they looked suspiciously like the doggie droppings bags that are available at the entrance to the running trail located behind our apartment. But seriously, people don't just leave bags of poo on their doorstep, do they? Of course not, I reasoned. It's not like we're living in a ghetto in Salem anymore; normal people put their dog's business in a trash can, preferably outside, like the dumpster that sits not 30 feet from our collective doorstep. Unfortunately for us, several days ago our neighbor forgot to tie off the bag, and our suspicions were confirmed. They've been leaving bags of their dog's doodie on our doorstep. Every day. And while it does make me laugh to think about setting said bag aflame and doorbell ditching our less than considerate neighbors, does anyone else think it's absolutely not socially acceptable to leave crap (literal) like that on your doorstep? Today I walked out of the house to find a bag of our neighbors' trash sitting on their doorstep. Really? Really. To my lovely neighbors with the lack of formal training in Things You Should Never, Ever Do 101, please take your trash to the dumpster!!! And take your bags of poo with you!

The news...

es·quire (ěs'kwīr', ĭ-skwīr')

Abbr. Esq. Used as an honorific usually in its abbreviated form, especially after the name of an attorney or a consular officer: Jane Doe, Esq.; John Doe, Esq.


And now, me.

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

Each new phase in my life seems to always be accompanied by the same sense of anxiety regarding my capacity to adapt. "I've been a college student for so long, I'm not sure I know how to be anything else. "I don't think I can be a normal person after being a missionary." "I've been so warped by law school that I'm fairly certain I can't function as a human being." In a way, it's actually a little comical, because I do always adapt. But still, it remains nerve-wracking to go from one chapter to the next. I have found that the best way to transition is just to close your eyes and jump in, which has definitely been the case with this, the most adult phase of my life to date. Immediately following the bar exam, Scott and I grabbed our backpacks and headed off in search of adventure, European style. Ever since I returned from Spain 4 years ago, I've been looking forward to the day when I would be able to go back. For some reason, this always seemed like a pipe dream to me because traveling abroad is expensive and I'm painfully practical. It doesn't make a whole lot of sense to spend several thousand bucks on a vacation when there are massive loans to be repaid. However, I am fortunate to have a husband who, though every bit as practical as myself, convinced me that this was a new beginning worth celebrating in fine style. So after two years of saving our pennies, we spent two weeks blowing through our savings in Spain, France, and Italy. It was unequivocally the best two weeks ever, and the misery of the bar exam was almost completely erased from my consciousness from the moment I stepped off the plane. We saw the sights, rode the rails, got lost (okay, so we were lost pretty much the whole time), pretended to understand French, slept in the scariest hostel in Barcelona, sampled the local fare, and took the most amazing photos. I debated whether or not to post the detailed version of our travels here, because they are definitely hilarity filled, but so much happened during those two weeks that I haven't even finished writing it all down. The reason for that is the fact that, upon our return to good old Oregon, I immediately began a new job. All throughout my law school experience, essentially the only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that when it was all over, I would be qualified to work in a job that I would surely love. Though I would joke about aspiring to be an ambulance chaser, I have always wanted to be a public interest lawyer. I knew early on that private practice was just not for me. Well, three years later, my idealism has been replaced with debt, and in my desperation to get a job, any job, I find myself starting my legal career working in tort litigation and criminal defense. Gotta start somewhere, right? Even if it's at the opposite end of the spectrum of where I want to be. Over the course of my first month as an almost lawyer (bar exam results are still two weeks away), I have found that the trade offs aren't all that bad. I'm not practicing the type of law that I always thought I would, but I'm getting that all-important "experience" that employers are so insistent that you have. My boss is a stellar mentor and the firm, which is wonderfully laid back, doesn't require that I sacrifice my evenings, weekends and firstborn child to the pursuit of higher billable hours. So far, I'm really enjoying learning the ropes, and maybe, hopefully someday soon, I'll be able to look back on this all and say with a straight face that I'm glad I went to law school. Unfortunately, as long as my entire paychecks are going to pay off student loans, I don't really see that happening in the foreseeable future. The new job also necessitated a change of address, because really, who wants to spend two hours each day commuting on I-5 between Portland and Salem? The answer is no one. With Scott also transferring to Portland, it just didn't make sense to stay in Salem. So we loaded up our lives and moved to Beaverton, which is a suburb of Portland. Moving from our first apartment was a somewhat bittersweet experience. I definitely won't miss the ever-present firetruck sirens wailing as they leave the station (which was right across the street from our complex), the ridiculous neighbors who play their craptastic music at 4:00 in the morning, or the dysfunctional toilet that randomly decides to refill itself every hour on the hour. But at the same time, it was just the tiniest bit sad to move out of our very first place. After all, we did live there for nearly three years and it was filled with all sorts of fun memories. Fortunately, my sadness was short lived, as our new apartment is a definite step up. It's palatial compared to our old place, the neighbors aren't comprised of the dregs of society, and the location can accurately be classified as "legitimately nice." Which is a major improvement from "ghetto fabulous." And now that we're getting settled into this, the latest of many new phases in life, and I have to say, anxiety has been replaced with anticipation. It promises to be a great chapter.

So you wanna be a lawyer?

Me too! Ever since I was ten. I already know what you're thinking. "What warped little ten year old decides in elementary school that she wants to grow up to be a social pariah, making a living by exploiting the stupidity and/or misfortunes of her fellow human beings?" I'm not entirely sure how to answer that question, and even if I could, it's another story for another day. Of course, one doesn't just wake up one morning, think to herself, "I want to be a lawyer" and by so thinking, become a lawyer. No, no. There is a lengthy list of prerequisites one must meet before assuming the lofty title of "Counselor," because, contrary to popular belief and all apparent accounts, not every idiot gets to become a lawyer. One such requirement is law school; the aspiring lawyer's first foray into the exciting world of legal analysis and critical thought. Sounds thrilling, doesn't it? Daily intellectually sparring with great academic thinkers and other like minded colleagues! Then the first day ends and you realize you've set yourself not on the path to enlightenment, but on the road to Hell, paved not with good intentions, but the shattered remnants of your self esteem. But you're not particularly economically inclined and you don't realize that sunk costs are always irrelevant, so you press on; not wanting to waste your initial investment, and foolishly deluding yourself into thinking it will get better. It never does. But one day, your academic journey comes to an end, you don a goofy looking hat and robe, get a prestigious degree, and you're so sure that you've made it! Now you get to be a lawyer! Not so fast there, turbo. Aren't you forgetting something? Oh yes. The ultimate haze. The bar exam. This year the exam was held in Clackamas, a solid hour away from where I live. I thought it would be wise to rent a hotel room in that area for those few days in order to avoid unnecessary driving, stress, and loss of sleep. At the same time, I was already profoundly annoyed at having shelled out $650 to take the test itself, and to spend an extra $100 a night to stay at the test site seemed like the very definition of insult to injury, so I booked myself a shady little spot in Gresham, 12 miles from the hotel where the exam was to be administered. I headed up to my hotel on Monday afternoon, thinking it would be an easy drive, given the time of day. An overturned semi truck ruined those aspirations and the drive took two hours instead of one. I had also decided to take our little clunker Sentra instead of the Honda because I didn't want to put the unnecessary miles on our new car. Have I mentioned that our Sentra has no air conditioning? Well it doesn't. And the last week has seen record high temperatures in Oregon. It wasn't a pleasant drive. But I found the hotel, parked myself in front of the a/c unit in my room, and did my best to convince my rattled nerves to calm down. I turned in for an early night, but woke up every single hour the night before the exam. I suppose paranoia will do that to a person. I've been fed a steady diet of bar exam horror stories for three months now, and I was just sure that I would sleep in, have a flat tire, drop and shatter my laptop, and come down with appendicitis just prior to or during the test. No wonder I didn't sleep. On the morning of the exam, I got lost on the way from my hotel to the test site (thank you Mapquest), but still managed to make it there with time to spare. I checked in, made my way down to a poorly lit conference room full of tables as far as the eye could see, and staked out a seat to which I would be shackled for the next two days. Then I waited. Over the next hour, hundreds of people streamed in, and all around me were people gushing about how much or how little they had studied and how nervous they were. Thank you all for stating the obvious. Needless to say, I put my earplugs in long before the test actually started. The first day of the exam consisted of the Multistate Practice Test memo and 9 essay questions. About 8 hours in total. I was pleased that law spilled from my brain and onto the page like water through a broken dam. I was not pleased to see a Fed Tax question, which incidentally hadn't been tested in the last 7 years. About halfway through the day, the portable a/c unit in the room stopped working, apparently overloaded by the task of cooling a room full of hundreds of bodies and firebreathing laptops. When they managed to get it going again, it wasn't functioning properly and according to the temperature gauge on the proctor's clock, the mercury rose to 85 degrees that day in the testing room. It was stifling and I'm pretty sure there were many people there who neglected to shower before coming to the exam. But eventually it ended, and when it did, the relief at knowing the "hard part" was past was much appreciated. I staggered out into the 100 degree heat of the day, drove back to my hotel and collapsed in a heap of intellectual rubble. But try as I did, I didn't sleep the second night either. Who needs to be rested during the most important exam of her life, anyway? I'm going to say I probably did, as evidenced by the fact that I got lost again on the second day on the way from my hotel to the exam. By that time it was just comical. If anyone out there is wondering what to get me for Christmas or birthday, a GPS navigator would be nice. But back to the test. The second day consisted of 6 hours of 200 multiple choice questions, but don't be fooled. The answer choices weren't between right and wrong. Oh no. They were between right and more right. As I made my way through the test booklet, filling in bubbles on a Scantron for what I desperately hoped to be the last time, I started to feel incredibly dizzy. The words blurred on the page and I briefly considered getting up and walking around, just to get the blood moving. However, I just knew that if I got up, I would probably pass out, definitely hit my head on the table, and certainly require a visit to the ER, for which the bar examiners wouldn't give me extra makeup time. Reflexively I wondered who the appropriate parties would be to sue for such an occurrence. The temperature in the room had again risen to the high 80's, so I convinced myself I was just dehydrated. I took a few sips of water and a several deep breaths and soldiered on...and on. My brain ached, my wrists cramped, my soul whimpered. And then it was over. Though it felt like I had spent weeks in that exam room, the test finally ended and I made my way home in my air conditioningless car in 109 degree heat. As I drove home, I admit, I was pleased with my efforts. I studied incessantly, I responded as coherently as possible under the circumstances, and I honestly felt like I did all I could. That has to be enough for minimal competence, right? I sincerely hope so. When I arrived in Salem, I couldn't bear the thought of going home to my partially demolished, and equally air conditioningless apartment, so I went to the only place I knew I could find both a/c, wireless internet, and peace and quiet: the law library. But I didn't study. And for once in my life, that is completely alright.

Introducing...

Our new ride.

Suggestions on what we should name it?

New and improved...everything

Sometimes karma tosses you a bone. And while part of me is extremely grateful, the other part (the part you all know and love) is indignantly saying "It is about time." There is only one week standing between me and the bar exam and things are finally, finally, finally falling into place. Finally. I got a job offer today, and while I always saw myself going into non-profit or government work (really anything except private practice), I am actually excited about this opportunity to get out there, learn the ropes, and be a lawyer. Even better is the fact that I'll be able to start as soon as I get back from Europe, so there's an enormous weight off my mind, knowing I'll have a steady paycheck coming in before my loans go into repayment. Shudder. Loans. My soon-to-be new boss was even kind enough to reassure me that in the unlikely event that I don't pass the bar on the first try, I'll still be able to clerk for the firm until the next time the exam is administered. Why, thank you for that kind offer, but if I don't pass it on the first try, I think I'll try my hand at parachuteless skydiving instead. Scott has also been scoping out new employment in the Portland area, and the prognosis is good. Let's just say he's gotten way more hits on his resume than I ever got on mine. For some reason, inexperienced recent grad lawyers aren't exactly a hot ticket item in a recession. Go figure. Because our new jobs are or will be based in a new locale, Scott and I have taken particular delight in the fact that this means we finally get to move out of the glorious little ghetto we've called home for the last two and a half years. Resolving not to make the same mistake twice, we actually took our time and painstakingly researched our options before signing a new lease, because let's be honest, who wants to live next door to a fire station and a meth lab if they don't have to? We'll be moving into our new place at the end of August, right after we get back from Europe. I know, busy month. But we're thrilled. The location is great, the apartment is a major step up, and perhaps the best part of all? If we no longer live in Salem, there's no way we can continue to teach primary in our Salem ward. Terrible, right? Cram it, I don't care. A year and a half of indentured servitude in the ward daycare is an awfully long time for someone who isn't exactly the kid craving type. Also on the list of the new and improved is the possibility of a new vehicle. On Tuesday, after a full day of apartment hunting and job interviewing, the alternator on our car died on the way home, leaving us stranded in a ghetto even scarier than the one in which we live. How is that even possible? In true last straw fashion, we decided we've had it with dumping our funds into the black hole that is our mechanic's garage. Though it is somewhat comical in a "having come full circle" kind of way (broken starter on our honeymoon, anyone?), I think it's time to move on. We've already got our eye on a few possibilities, so hopefully we'll have a new ride to go with our new life. New, improved, exciting, and maybe just a little bit scary, but in a good way. That's the news in a nutshell and quite likely the final chapter of The Sanity Conundrum: Surviving Law School. Stay tuned for the thrilling sequel: The Sanity Conundrum: Rantings of a First Year Associate.

Top 20 things

I'd rather do right now instead of study for the bar:

20. Make cookies
19. Look for a new apartment
18. Clean the apartment in which I currently live
17. Ride a roller coaster
16. Hike a mountain
15. Go to the beach
14. Watch the world go by
13. Be hit in the face repeatedly with a blunt object
12. Find a job
11. Brush up on my Spanish skills
10: Get a pedicure
9: Go for a run
8: Watch a movie
7: Blog about something besides the bar
6: Stalk people on Facebook
5: Read a book for fun
4: Take a nap on the grass
3: Eat cookies
2: Daydream about Europe
1. Nothing

Every couple nights or so, you know you pop into my dreams

The bar exam is about a month away, and I can tell the tension is mounting because my brain is no longer respecting the natural bounds between study time and non-study time (i.e. sleep). I've had this happen to me before, usually towards the end of the second week of final exams. It's obnoxious. In the early hours of the morning, my brain will start having some variation of the following schizophrenic conversation with itself. Very loudly. "Hey...are you awake?" "It's 5am, what do you think?" "It's just that I've been having trouble remembering what the seventh way to terminate an easement is. Do you know?" "Are you serious? It's early! Go back to sleep! We have to go to bar review in a couple of hours and it's hard enough to stay awake in that class as it is." "I know, but it's really bothering me. I know there's estoppel, necessity ending, destruction of the servient parcel, condemnation, release, abandonment, merger, and...? " "You really want to talk about Property at 5 in the morning?" "Well, we could talk about Contracts if you want." "That's just it, I don't want to talk about anything even remotely related to the law. Not now, and to be honest, not ever. Go back to sleep!" "I can't. Not until I figure out the last way to extinguish an easement!" "Prescription, you idiot. The answer is prescription. Now can we go back to sleep? Please??" "Oh yeah, I knew that. Thanks for reminding me. But I also had a question about the admissibility of character evidence." At this point, the conversation has actually made sleep impossible, and I'm left with no choice but to lie awake in bed, dreading the start of another day and the dumping of more information into my already beleaguered brain. One more month, right? Just one more month.

Comic relief

During the break time in bar review, the conversation turned to the topic of babies. More specifically, fellow law students who had decided to procreate during law school, and their experiences. Luckily for all of us non-parents out there who can't possibly appreciate all the intricate nuances of transmitting humanity, the makers of this gem of a website have broken down the do's and don'ts of newborn care. http://www.newbornbabyzone.com/baby-care/the-dos-and-donts-newborn-baby-care-pics/ Go. Look. Laugh.

Respect the rule of the headphones

Sometimes polite conversation is just awkward. Sometimes people really are purposely trying to avoid interacting. But no matter how obvious the signals they are projecting, it would appear that the urge to engage with another human being is just too powerful to resist, and you breach one of the self-executing rules of the highest order: When you encounter a person wearing headphones, the chances are good that they don't want to talk, so you should just move on. Or maybe this is just a self-executing rule in my world. If that is the case, I would really appreciate it if people would stop wandering into that world without first committing to obey the rules. I graduated from law school last week, go me. But just as that comment seems random and out of place, so does the fact that even though I am officially a law grad, each and every day I come back to this life force incinerator to attend perfectly mind numbing lectures and practice exams in preparation for the bar. After class is over, I make my way down to the student lounge, where there are couches next to a series of large windows where a person can at least feel the warmth from the sun, even though going out into it is not an option. I proceed to sit on said couches for about 4 hours while I do homework for the following day, and basically grapple with the fact that during the course of the last three years, I have managed to purge everything I've been taught. Wonderful. As I sit and study, people stream out of the building, mainly because it's summer, and who wants to spend their summer imprisoned in the law school? I don't have much of a choice because studying at home is not an option for me. Thank you, super loud unemployed neighbors. So I sit, and I study in the ever-increasingly empty building. Unfortunately for me, my favored study spot just happens to be by one of the entrances to the law school, so as people vacate, some are unable to resist the urge to comment on my inherent loser-ness. Or perhaps they want to offer me little affirmations in hopes of...what? Encouraging me to persevere? Former professors smile and tell me I'll pass the bar for sure if I keep studying this hard. The dean tells me I shouldn't stay here so late. The office manager at student services shakes her head and reassures me that it will all be over soon. I'm not sure what it is about me that projects to these people an aura of welcoming such unsolicited intrusions. I don't look up when people leave the building. I'm dutifully reviewing outlines and taking mental notes of concepts that I'm pretty sure I knew at one point. I'm staring lifelessly at my computer screen furiously taking notes while listening to a taped lecture on some obscure point of law that I'll probably never encounter in my life outside of the bar exam. I'm wearing headphones, for crying out loud!!!! HEADPHONES!!! Why don't people respect the rule of the headphones? If you try to say something to someone wearing headphones, it is entirely likely they don't hear what you say. This then leads to the awkward fumbling and the inevitable, "I'm sorry, what?" This is then followed by a repeat of the comment that didn't really need to be made in the first place, an exchange of courtesy laughter and polite smiles, and a completely derailed train of thought. If the headphones can't deter this kind of occurrence, then what can???

Tower of Terror

About two weeks ago, I came home from campus to find an obnoxiously large box, sitting innocuously on my doorstep. Upon opening the mystery package, I was at once annoyed and horrified to find "Law School, Reloaded." However, since I was still very much in law school at the time and facing down three exams, I put the bottomless box of misery in the spare room and resolved to look at it later. Well, it has been an entire week since I pressed the submit electronically button on the last law school exam I will ever take, and I am just now summoning the courage to dive back in. I am amazed at how quickly I was able to shake off student mode. I'm fairly certain I've spent 90% of the last week lounging around in my pajamas, planning a spectacular post-bar vacation, and trying my darndest to avoid the appearance of productivity. It has been quite glorious. But the nasty little reality of the underlying elation of graduating from law school is the fact that my shiny new degree means exactly nothing until I pass the bar exam. Yes, the last looming obstacle at the gates of reentry to the land of the living. This reality compels me to refrain from allowing myself to fully acclimate to post-student life. The bar exam is in 85 days. 85 days of living in exam prep mode. Does that photo depress you as much as it depresses me? The stack of books mocks me; daring me to open them, and realize just how much I have failed to retain. Suddenly I'm thinking I should have put off unloading that box for another couple of days...

What gets lost in the shuffle of final exams

In the last four days of intense study for my next exam, I have resigned myself to the fact that my Crim Pro II final will be a bloodbath. On that note, you really shouldn't judge my wandering mind too harshly...

http://kalman.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/04/23/may-it-please-the-court/

That time for the last time

This week started out like any other. Except this week is not like all the rest. As one friend put it, "I feel as though, if my life called, I could actually say 'See you soon!'" I share the sentiment. Three more days. Just three. That breaks down to 5 class periods, 6 academic hours, 360 minutes. And strangely enough, this is all I can think about. Not the fact that I have three exams to contend with, even though, as the archives of this blog indicate, exams are usually a knock down, drag out stressfest for me. But not this time. For some reason, the only thing pervading my consciousness right now is the reality that my academic career is finally, finally, finally nearing its end. In all honesty, it doesn't quite seem real. After all, I'm sitting here in the library, at the same table where I've sat for three years. There are textbooks in front of me, demanding to be read. There are frazzled students around me chugging Red Bull and frantically scribbling notes in their outlines. It's just business as usual in these, the waning days of the semester. But I can't ignore the light. The light that began as a small pinpoint in the darkness which has grown to a blinding sun. The light at the end of this hopelessly long tunnel. I keep thinking back, way back to the days just before this undertaking, and I am overwhelmed at how audacious, how naive I was...



August 11, 2006: In the few short months since graduation, so much has changed, and again I'm going to be shaking things up when I move to Oregon to start law school. Am I ready for this? Am I ready to move to a new state where I know exactly no one, live with a complete stranger, and begin my pursuit of higher, higher education? I sure hope so, because it's a little late to turn back now. This entire experience is quite schizophrenic. I'm excited for a new adventure. I've been unbelievably complacent with just about everything this year. School wasn't too much of a challenge, life has been relatively easy, and I think it's time to test my limits again. At the same time, things are insane. With Scott, and getting engaged, and moving, and trying to figure out if it will be possible to be a 1L and plan a wedding without losing my mind, life has been pretty hectic. I make no secret of the fact that I am a stress magnet. If the situation has even the remote potential of being stressful, it will be to me. I can only hope I take to law school like I have to college. I love to learn, and I'm competitive enough to get the job done, but I'm scared because I don't know what's going to happen. You never hear anyone say how great law school is; how much fun they had. The stories sound like prisoners of war survival stories. Will I be able to thrive in such an environment? This has been my dream since I was ten, and those of you who know me know I have acute tunnel vision and I won't be happy until I've crossed it off my list. I like to be in control of every aspect of my life and normally I am, but when I feel like I'm not, I go a little nuts. I fully expect to be going a little nuts in the weeks and months to come, but on the mission I learned that if you don't ask, the answer is already no. If I don't do this, I've already failed. So bring on tomorrow with all its challenges, surprises, and adventures. I'm ready.



All I can do is laugh at that girl. She wasn't ready. She didn't want this. She had no idea. But that doesn't really matter now, because it's all over. The misery, the hopelessness, the sleep deprivation, the frustration, the hardened cynicism. And only elation of impossible accomplishment remains.

Shoulda been a slacker

I'm supposed to be editing a paper. But as I stare at my own words on paper and compare them to the comments my professor has written, I can't help but think, "I really shouldn't have put so much work into my first draft." Last year I wrote a paper on juvenile life imprisonment in the context of the Roper v. Simmons holding and made the argument that a prohibition on such life sentences should be a logical outgrowth of the Supreme Court's recent decisions. When I wrote that paper, I put a crazy amount of work into it, handed in my first draft, and the professor said it was so good I didn't need to make any changes to it. At the time, I thought that was odd, but I didn't complain. Who needs more work to rain down on them right at the end of the semester? I'm not entirely sure why I expected lightning to strike twice. This year my paper is on the dual sovereignty exception to the prohibition on successive prosecutions, and again, I put a crazy amount of work into my first draft. Therein lies my mistake. As I sit here trying to figure out how to improve on what I've already written, I find myself utterly unwilling to expend the necessary effort. My ideas have already taken shape and I don't want to change them, and I sure as heck don't want to add to them!! Not to mention my annoyance at having to renumber my foot notes. But that's the problem with turning in a reasonably well developed paper as a "rough draft." When you turn it into a professor who actually bothers to read and think about what you've said, he is inevitably going to come up with things you can change. If I had been a smart person, I would have turned in a craptastic rough draft, so that any changes I made to it would seem drastic and well-reasoned by comparison. Why didn't I do that? I think the only answer is one best said in a monotone drone and accompanied by a blank stare. "Post spring break 3L." So, who wants to edit this thing for me?

The never ending transition into adulthood

Shortly after Scott and I first were married, we found ourselves going through the motions of newlywed life and I remember being so nerdily excited when we purchased life insurance. Yes, life insurance. I was also nerdily excited about having health care coverage, a 401K plan, and our very own apartment. Let's dissect this, shall we? Life insurance is money you pay into the vast black hole of the financial world on the off chance that you die during the policy time frame, in which case you get money back. What a morbid concept. I no longer dare to look at our 401K for fear that we may end up owing people money on it (Troubled Assets Relief Program, anyone?), and our apartment? Ghetto fabulous to say the least. But I was excited about these things because to me, they were symbolic of crossing some imaginary threshold from "almost a grownup" to full blown adulthood. Because, let's face it, when you're in college, you might feel independent, but you're safely sequestered from the real world during those wonderful years in which your calling in life is to get smarter. I might have thought I was entering adulthood after getting married, however, I'm quickly coming to realize that it's an extremely long threshold to cross. The last few years have been spent in a kind of suspended animation when it comes to adult life, given the fact that I was still in school. This meant we couldn't move anywhere, explore new job opportunities, buy a house, or anything along those lines because we were temporarily and unavoidably stuck. That landscape is quickly changing, and in a startling turn of events, we now find ourselves grappling with these very questions in a much more immediate fashion now that unexpected job prospects have arisen. We are exploring the possibility of a cross country move, which, while it has never really been the plan to stay in Oregon, is quite a daunting prospect, mainly because it's all happening so fast. How will we work out the timing? Should we rent, or try to buy a house? Can we afford to maintain two residences during the interim? Are we ready for this??? I graduate in a little over a month, meaning it's time to take yet another step into Adulthoodland. This excites me a great deal, but at the same time, there is the slightest hint of apprehension. I will miss Oregon, which surprises me a great deal. I will miss the friends I have made here. I will not miss law school. No, not one bit. I find myself torn between the desire to move on with life, and the realization that these big changes mean turning the page on the current chapter of my life. For all the law school misery, there has been much about it worth remembering fondly. There is always a nameless sense of loss that accompanies the transition period between the now and the not so far away. But I look forward to the adventures that surely await.

You are here...

Life is just so insane lately. There's a never ending list of things to do and not nearly enough hours in the day to do it all. This is my weak attempt at self-motivation by committing my shortcomings to print.


Where I'm at

Appellate research paper: 8 pages

Semester outlines: not even started

Trial practice midterm: Closing arguments written

Bar application: Lacking UT DMV records

1.5 mile run: 12mins 30sec

300 meter sprint: 59.7 sec

One minute sit ups: 38

Push ups: 10

EU Law

Where I need to be

Appellate reseach paper: 20 pages

Semester outlines: committing to memory

Trial practice midterm: prepped and ready to go

Bar application: completed and submitted

1.5 mile run: 12mins 29sec

300 meter sprint: 57.4sec

One minute sit ups: 41

Push ups: 22

Anywhere but here.

So very far to go.

Cue disgusted sigh...now

I am a 3L. With this distinction comes burnout, bar-related anxiety, job hunting stress, and general malaise, for which the only cure is to sit back and ride out the rest of the storm. I also like to think that at this point in my law school career, I should be afforded the right to participate in class discussion only when it suits me. Really, haven't I earned this right? There are a great deal of professors at my school who respect and honor this unspoken arrangement that exists in classes comprised primarily of 3Ls. And while the fear may exist that wholesale abandonment of the Socratic method will result in professor-centric lectures each class period (heaven forbid should they actually work for their paychecks), there is never a lack of students who choose to raise their hand and contribute their endless parade of insights (some more inane than others) to whatever the topic of discussion happens to be that day. The system works, and all are benefited. But not every professor is acquainted with the voluntary participation rule. I'm looking at you, Crim-Pro-professor-who-also-happens-to-be-Canada's-worst-export-since-Shania-Twain. Normally when I come to class, I am prepared. I spend copious amounts of time everyday, hunched over my law books in the library as the fluorescent lighting sucks the life from me, and I am arguably able to contribute to class discussion, if I were to feel so inclined. But that's just it. I never feel so inclined. Ever. This doesn't mean that I am not learning. And yet some professors feel the need to drag me into the dialogue, in what is becoming an obnoxiously all too frequent event. Two weeks ago I was in the cross hairs for pretty much the duration of my Crim Pro class. I assumed that this would have earned me the right to be off the hook for at least another month, if not the rest of the semester. Not so, says she who controls the attendance sheet. Today went something like this...

Me: (quietly playing solitaire, half listening to the discussion on plea bargaining, but mostly thinking about how glad I am it's finally Friday)
Professor: "Let's see, who haven't I bothered for a while? Uh...you?"
Me: (eyes raised slowly) "Mmmmmhmmmmm?"
The Class: (low rumbling giggles at first, rising to outright laughter as people turn and actually see the look of unabashed annoyance on my face).
Professor: (nervous shifting as she realizes the laughter isn't at my expense but at hers) Uh, tell me about this case...?
Me: (Poorly suppressed sigh of disgust as I contemplate reminding her that it really hasn't been all that long since she called on me)

I then proceeded to minimize my solitaire game and review my notes on the case at hand. I gave a brilliant pithy exposition of the facts and the holding, all while realizing that I prefaced every sentence by saying "Basically." "Basically the judge gave the defendant the impression that he wasn't going to get a fair trial in that particular courtroom." "Basically the ABA standards suggest that judges should not be involved at the discussion level of plea negotiations, even though they have wide discretion in sentencing." "Basically I can't believe you're calling on me. Again." The prof tried to throw a few curve balls, but I have learned from bitter experience that she runs her class like a 1L class, so I have dusted off the practice of preparing like a 1L. This entails painstakingly briefing each case, anticipating every possible question, and actually reading the dissenting opinions on the off chance that the professor asks me about my take on that too. For the love of all that is decent in this world, I don't have the energy anymore to deal with confused professors who think they're teaching 1L classes. So stop calling on me!

Life

Reading about plea bargaining is boring me to tears. It's 5:00pm and I'm starving.




This is not food, but it fits easily into a laptop bag, is smuggled covertly into the library, and purports to have vitamins and minerals. So I subsist on it.



I continue to hope that one day I will perfect the technique of learning through osmosis.



This is the last thing I want to do at the end of the day, but supposedly I need to be in minimally adequate physical condition.




I'm so tired of this place. So very tired.




If I could do it all over again, I would choose life.

"Law school robs us of our humanity." --Gary Guichard, Major Case Division Supervisor, Atlanta Conflict Defender Office

So evidently there's this recession going on

And it's a terrible time to be entering the job market. I remember being in college back in the good old days of 2006 and thinking, "Wow, the economy sure isn't looking so hot, it's a good thing I still have three more years of school to ride it out." That was before "bailout" and "stimulus package" rose to the stature of worn out buzzwords they currently enjoy. When the housing market meltdown began its torturous run, I was quite glad that we lived in a ghetto fabulous apartment because the word "foreclosure" didn't have anything to do with us. When the pox spread to the credit market, I thought "Whew, at least I already have taken out all the loans I need for the time being." Then our 401K started its plunge into the abyss, and suddenly the bad economy started to actually mean something to me. And now the already precarious situation worsens. As the day of my final graduation draws ever nearer (87 days!) I find myself more and more disturbed by the reality that I am graduating into a world awash with lawyers but scant on jobs. And this terrifies me. I'm leaving the realm of academia with an obscene amount of debt, despite my best efforts to limit my exposure to loans. Every day that I drag myself to campus for a night class after a full day of work, I have to remind myself that every hour I work means less money I have to borrow to pay for things like oh, I don't know, books ($100+ a pop). Bar review course (upwards of $3000). And who could forget the bar exam itself. Which incidentally costs $650, not including all the hidden fees associated with having background checks and obtaining driving records. $650 to take a test? I remember taking the LSAT and griping over the $100 they charged me for that. It just seemed so wrong to be charged to have other people inflict on me horrific torment. Oh wait, that's law school. But yes, massive debt, pathetic job prospects, and overall anxiety is beginning to set in. I attended a career fair last week, applying to every single organization that was interviewing 3Ls, (which was only like 6 out of 50), only scored 2 interviews, and they were not promising. I'm getting mighty tired of hearing things like, "Blah blah blah, budget cuts, blah blah hiring freeze, blah blah, maybe after you pass the bar, blah blah blah, economy in the toilet, blah." I've been sending out resumes and interviewing as much as time and opportunity permit, but it's been one rejection after another and at this point, there are really only 2 left in the pike. Just knowing that is stressing me the heck out. I think the most soul crushing disappointments thus far have been the jobs where I apply, make it past the first cut, get my hopes up, possibly get past the second cut, and then get shown the door with a polite thank you for your time. I cling to the illusion that things will work out if I'm patient, but I'm the type of person to whom patience comes neither easily nor naturally. I want to know NOW where I'm going to be working after I pass the bar. I want to know NOW just how long it will take to pay off my loans. I want to know NOW that I can start planning on moving from my grad student digs into something a little more grown up. And I want to know NOW that all this misery to which I have subjected myself for three long years will someday (sooner rather than later) pay dividends. Basically I'd really appreciate a little stimulus to my economy in the form of a job offer.

When law students go crazy...

The law school faculty is usually one step ahead of us. I arrived on campus this morning and was greeted by the suspicious glower of a security guard pacing in front of the entrance, trying his hardest to project an aura of authority. "Hmm," I thought to myself as I entered the building, "Somewhere a Wal-Mart is missing its parking lot enforcer." But I was in a hurry to get caught up on reading that had managed to get neglected during the insanity of the past week, so I didn't think much else of it. When I stumbled over another security guard on my way to the library, my curiosity was piqued. Law school is a lot of things, and could probably benefit from having such on site upgrades like a resident psychiatrist, Starbucks, or padded study rooms. Law school is not, however, a hot bed of crime (because inherent awfulness isn't a punishable crime), so we generally don't require the presence of not one, but two flashlight toting rent-a-cops. As a generic sense of unease descended, I was greeted with the reassuring words of a law school administrator in my email inbox...

"As you have probably noticed, we have two security guards at the law
school today, one at each entrance. The guards will be at the law
school from 7:30 a.m. until 5 p.m. The guards are not present to
respond to any specific threat. We have hired them because some
students have expressed unease about attending classes in the present
circumstances. We hope the presence of the security guards will ease
these concerns."

If you're wondering if this email could have been any more cryptic, you're in good company. "Present circumstances?" It conjures the color-coded terror alert system in terms of uselessness and stoking of irrational fears. The school gossip mill says there have been specific threats of violence made against students by another student, but that's what happens when the mental patients are running the institution; no one really knows what is going on. When I was a 1L and the severity of the "kick out policy" consumed my consciousness, I didn't find it beyond the realm of possibility that some poor student whose life had been ruined by the arbitrary application of the grading curve would one day show up to the school to wreak a little retributive havoc. And evidently it really is not beyond the realm of possibility. But good news! The administration is cognizant of our plight and taking action. I don't know about you, but just knowing that there are two unarmed guards monitoring ingress and egress from this facility makes me feel secure. Of course, I happen to have class today until 5:30pm. And what about tomorrow? Here's a thought; why not just arrest the offending student for harassment, and make some systemic reforms to make it less likely that future students will resort to violence and mayhem? Or better yet, save the money you're spending on security and start providing all law students with free Diazepam. Valium for everyone!

But not today

I look forward to finally being caught up on my reading.
I look forward to not being in the market for a new job.
I look forward to new challenges.
I look forward to graduation.
I look forward to having time to read for fun.
I look forward to not being a broke grad student.
I look forward to being free to enjoy rare sunny days in the middle of winter.
I look forward to a day when I will not be the last person to leave the law library.
But today is not that day.

Senioritis becomes me

To some, being a slacker is a skill that comes naturally. I have never fallen into that category. In high school, I was type-A about getting good grades so I could get into college. I blew that opportunity to really fully enjoy the malady that is senioritis. Ditto for college because I wanted to get into law school. But tell me, is there really any valid reason whatsoever to agonize over grades during your last semester ever? I think it's high time I caught the train to Slackerville. I keep telling myself that I'm not doing my reading assignments because my books are all still in transit. I think that's probably a half-truth, and lurking deeper is conscious rebellion. I could check out my textbooks from the library reserve and spend the next few hours dutifully preparing for the three classes I have tomorrow. Yeah, I could do that. I also could be reading for trial prep, which is the one class I have tonight, but the professor didn't post a first day assignment, so why would I do that? Instead I'm passing the time, getting a good laugh at Ann Coulter's expense, watching her disastrous turn on the Today Show and thinking, "How sweet would it be to be her attorney? I bet she's constantly defending slander and libel lawsuits; I'd pay off these loans in no time!" Yes, that's what I'm doing instead of reading. I'm watching videos, humming music from "Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog" and realizing that I previously had no concept of just how severe senioritis could really be.

Ambivalence

"The coexistence within an individual of positive and negative feelings toward the same person, object, or action, simultaneously drawing him or her in opposite directions."
School starts again on Monday. How is it possible that an entire month has passed already? I guess it wasn't much of a vacation considering I worked full time the entire "break." What can I say? Necessity trumps laziness. I should have spent today at the library completing first day reading assginments. My books haven't arrived yet because the booklist didn't get posted until two days ago. I'm going to be going to my classes on Monday unprepared for the first time in my law school career. I am surprisingly okay with that. If I get called on, I fully intend to announce that I would have been prepared, but the professor was too lazy to get the book selection to student services until the last possible second, so my lack of preparation is really his or her fault. I may or may not launch into a tirade about an insidious conspiracy between the law school and the bookstore to force students to spend outrageous amounts of money on books that can be purchased for half the price from online retailers. Grades came out a few days ago, mostly good news, with the exception of my Fed Tax grade. Darn, I guess I'm going to have to abandon my lifelong ambition of working for the IRS. Raise your hand if that one surprised you. Oh school. Enter the word of the day. I'm going through my time honored ritual of indulging in a pre-back-to-school panic attack. Why is this? Fully 19 of the 26 years I have been on this planet have been spent languishing in a classroom. I'm pretty much an expert student at this point, and still, I find myself rocking involuntarily at the thought of starting again at square one. I think it's the uncertainty of it all that is the most maddening. How am I going to balance work and school? When will I find the time to study? Why do I have to run yet another moot court competition? Will I be able subsist without sleep or food? Will I finally figure out a way to keep from infecting everyone around me with my insanity? These are all questions that have no answers, and they won't have answers for at least two more weeks. Generally that's how long it takes me to find my groove. In the meantime panic reigns. On the other hand, this is the last time I will experience this particular brand of anxiety. This semester looks surprisingly good. 14 credits will be comparatively light, and my work schedule looks somewhat humane. I have one class that is pass/fail. One class is a paper class. Only three final exams this semester. And then it's over. Over forever. This is the semester where I get to bring the champagne to my last class and try to hit the professor as I pop the cork and start the celebration. I'm trying to focus on the finish line. But my ambivalence makes it difficult. One semester is manageable. Another semester is more than I can handle. I'm excited to interact with and be intellectually challenged by classmates again. I dread the thought of hearing inane comments from that guy in each class. I might actually enjoy my classes this semester. Who am I kidding; there is nothing even remotely enjoyable about law school. This is what I've always wanted. Why haven't I dropped out yet? But more importantly, why isn't it over yet?