Finito...

...but not really. Though I enjoyed going out with Joiner and Scifi and Sally last night to dessert and then a law school function (horror of horrors!). When we got to the law school function, I thought, "Gosh, if only I'd arrived five years ago, I might be having fun here..." I'm SO over the thumping bass bar/club scene. If ever I was into it. (It was, however, a lot better than holing up in my darkened cell of a room and watching About A Boy while crying, which is what I did after my contracts exam last year.)

Once I email my paper to my professor on Wednesday, THAT will mean it's finito, this (school) year of corporate wooing and future whoredom ("corporate whoredom or public interest poor-dom!"); this year that was fat and full of experiences like New Orleans and clinical work; this year that reminded me how much I love - truly love - history research; this year that was about the Not-Gay Boyfriend and the Bulgarian Real Estate Agent and not being friends with Friend and being/not being friends with the Destroyer; this year that was the second and the penultimate year here, at Crimson Law School.

Not being finished yet, I will reserve my comments for the rebuttal -- er, later, I mean. (It doesn't matter how fast you run away from the law; when you're in law school, it comes hunting for you, tackles you to the ground, pummels analysis and legal-speak into your brain, and, when you're lying there on the dirt with no more fight in you, feebly muttering "sua sponte! federalism! courts are ... not ... legislators!" it rises with a smirk, dusts its hands, and sprints off to pounce on the next unenthusiastic law student. You can run, but you cannot hide.)

Off to the undergrad library now, with 20 pounds of books to return (hopefully) and four hours to finish research for the damn history paper.