Icky...

...is how I feel, and icky I shall continue to feel, until I hie myself back to a regular gym routine, which will hopefully help me stop feeling panicky about not understanding bankruptcy class, not having read for corporations at all this semester, and wondering how I will get through the rest of the semester when I feel like I'm going to cry every day.

1. Bankruptcy. I hate that class. Not because it's not entertaining or even kind of interesting, but because I spend six or seven or eight hours each weekend reading the assignments, another 2.5 hours going over the problem set with my study group, and then suffering through class three times a week, awash in fear of being called on. And I still don't understand parts of it! I grew up thinking that if I work hard at something, I should be able to understand it. Spend enough time and energy, and you will be rewarded by -- maybe not mastery, but surely some modicum of comprehension? Is that so much to ask?

My mother suggested I tell the prof: "Someone's being dumb here. Is it me or is it you?" 'Cause it's got to be a little bit due to the teaching, no?

2. Corporations. Ugh. The less said the better. If I had the time to read, I have the vague feeling that I'd find it moderately interesting. But I have read literally 15 pages since the beginning of the semester, and I am completely lost in class. I skipped class on Thursday because ... well, because I gave up on life that morning and watched ABC shows online all day while sitting in my darkened room, but also because I couldn't face possibly being called on in corporations. And then I skipped half of corporations on Friday, just to make extra sure I wouldn't be called on, and when I went to class, whaddya know -- I'm next to be called on. I left the classroom. Just up and left and checked email and completely avoided the situation.

Really, I cannot deal with school anymore.

3. Tonight I bought my first pack of cigarettes this term because I had that feeling while going over problems with my study group. You know that feeling where you feel the dumbest out of the group, and you can't follow what the others are talking about, and the worst part? The worst part is that you actually DID the reading. And you still don't know what the others are talking about. I thought I was going to cry. Ack.

So it's a good thing I have no class this coming week, because I am reaching a breaking point of sorts, and it'll be good to at least be out of school for those few days. I am interviewing at two places in two different cities, but at least I won't be in class. Of course, one of those places is Seattle, where the folks live, and that'll be another sort of stress. I mean, what kind of aunt, uncle and mother don't call you back when you leave them messages saying that surprise! you'll be in town next weekend? I totally called them on Thursday, when I found out that I'd been called back by a Seattle firm, and it's not until tonight, when I called them per my weekly talk, that we talked about it. And then my aunt and uncle sounded all stressed and not happy about me coming, to the point where I asked, "Look, is this not a good time for you guys? Because you don't sound very happy about me coming, you sound stressed."

I figured out that it was the thought of having to drive into Seattle from their home (about 45 minutes away) in the evening that was stressing them out. (I'd suggested dinner on Friday night in Seattle.) They were in a pretty serious car accident in the spring, and that has made them into old people. Before, they were getting up there (aunt is 70, uncle is 65), but they weren't Old People. Now, they are frightened and old, and it's sort of heartbreaking.

Is it too much to ask for them to be secure enough to say, hey, we'd be more comfortable if you came out to our house? I try to be understanding, I tell them -- you don't have to drive, I can come out to your house, you can stay at my hotel, etcetera, etcetera, but tonight I ... I am tired. I shouldn't let it get to me, I should just do what I can and let it go, but "doing what I can" is so limitless, somehow, so infinite. I can do a lot. But I'm not used to being the cruise director, to thinking about what would actually make the situation relaxing for others, and it's exhausting. I don't know how to dial down that part of me that wonders and worries about their happiness.

I don't know. I went on a lovely hike yesterday with Junebug, my college friend who lives in Providence, and I was trying to talk this and other related things out with her, and it was nice to feel that she understood, and could advise me from her own experience with her mother. I realized afresh how alienating law school has been. I'm older and dealing with so many issues that the 22-year-olds haven't yet, and it's exhausting to be in an environment where it feels like no one understands you, nor appreciates what you are going through, nor appreciates what you have gone through.

I realize this is turning into a huge long complaint about life and everything in the world, but there it is. I whine. That's what this blog is about. That's what I do on this blog. Sometimes I can write about it with good humor, and sometimes I can't, and ... I don't know. Is this the way it's supposed to be? I feel like I'm working so hard this term, with very little return or satisfaction. What am I doing wrong? How do I fix it?

Well. Here's a picture of nice foliage to reward you for getting through this entry.

The good and the bad

THE GOOD:

I've been invited to interview in person with a government agency, so maybe I won't end up working for a firm.

ALSO GOOD:

Last week, my supervisor from my clinical in the spring asked if I had thought about applying for a prestigious public interest fellowship, I think with the idea that I might be interested in working for the legal services center where I worked for him. I told him that I hadn't, because the people I knew who got that fellowship were the high priests and priestesses of direct legal services, and I was more like a junior acolyte. (I know. I'm really into the metaphors these days. Heard my prom queen/interviewing with firms analogy yet?)

But I was flattered that he would think of me as a potential fellowship person, so I looked up the deadline ... which happened to be the day before he sent me the email. Oh well. I got a very nice email back from him though, saying that I was right about the deadline, but wrong about the acolyte business -- "you are a high priestess," he wrote, and "we should talk about your post-graduation plans."

I don't know why I'm so pleased by that. I guess it just feels good to have someone out there who cares where you end up, in a very specific "you're good at this, you should do this" kind of way.

THE BAD:

The prof who is supposed to be signing off on my 3L paper project still hasn't done so, and this is after two initial emails about being my advisor, one handwritten note under his office door about my project, another email reiterating and detailing the project, the project proposal and proposal to do it over winter (January) term under his door last week, and yet another email reminding him about the deadline tomorrow.

Tomorrow I'll go push another handwritten note under his door, I guess. What else can I do?

Sometimes, when you're on the adrenaline high and getting things done and being very productive and busy, you don't mind holding people's hands. And other times, when you're bloaty and PMS-y and really tired, you wonder why the hell other people can't just do what they're supposed to do.

Reasons not to

Reason 42 for not going to yet another firm dinner at the fanciest restaurant in Crimson Square: because you end up sitting at a table of Mormon men, hoping that when the topic of conversation is politics, it'll swing to something else, and then when it does swing to something else (sports), hoping fervently that it it'll swing back to politics.

Reason 43: because in order to sit through dinner (seafood platter, organic greens, pumpkin ravioli, chocolate crepes and coffee), you drink lots and lots and lots of Pinot Noir, but you don't really notice, because the waitstaff are so good about keep your glass half full like it's a magically replenishing glass, and you end up stumbling home in the rain whining on the phone to Joiner about how you just sat through a 2.5-hour dinner with Mormons and you really want a cigarette and someone to kiss right now.

Reason 44: because you drank last night and the night before, and you're NOT 22 ANYMORE. STOP IT.

Reason 45: because with the Mormon's wife, you have some weird drunk conversation about that fuckwit, the He-Destroyer, and how he is dating some married woman, and you ponder together why he has like a WOOOOMP effect on women and you point out that she hasn't succumbed, and you haven't either, and it's a total lie, because THE HYPNO-TOAD HE-DESTROYER CANNOT BE STOPPED. YOU WILL ALL BE ASSIMILATED INTO HIS REIFIED BULLSHITTING CRIMINALLY INSANE HOTNESS.

Reason 46: because you're not going to get a callback anyway. Because you used to be a Prom Queen (2L year) but now you're day-old cabbage.

Reason 47: because it's is pouring buckets out there, and you could have been very comfortably ensconced in your bed watching Felicity episodes (reasearch for the 3L paper) and having pita chips for dinner, but you chose to go out into the rain anyway because you couldn't think of a lie fast enough on the phone with the recruiter. It is raining frogs out there, for real.

And speaking of mind-boggling

So I get a light, chatty email from the He-Destroyer at 6 am yesterday with questions regarding: (1) how I was doing, (2) how to make eggs fluffy, (3) whether I want to come on a trip to Europe later this month since his traveling companions have dropped out of that leg of the trip, and (4) "any thoughts on getting together... next week?"

Huh? After that whole long email chain last week where you said it was awkward when we got together because we didn't acknowledge that we should be operating on a deeper level and you implied I was avoiding complications on purpose and maybe he mistook my dispassionate nature for gravity? Yeah, that whole fuckwittage? And now you just want to be Mr. Chatty McLightness, with your fluffy eggs and European trip-invitin'?

So I write back, among other things, that you should add milk to the eggs and beat them before cooking for fluffiness, that my term was going terribly because I have to work closely with someone who annoys the hell out of me, and that I was free on Thursday and Friday nights.

And HE writes back: "Are you saying you'll go to [Europe] with me if I go on a Thursday???" And "Who is this mysterious object of your hatred?"

GOD.

And now, he has invited me on a dinner/movie evening with his ex-GF (a.k.a. the She-Destroyer), the Mormon who Loves Him (and the Mormon's wife), and a Very Nice Southern Boy who is refreshingly normal and whom I am fond of. But I don't WANNA spend time with your screwed up clique, He-Destroyer! Especially since the She-Destroyer and I have talked about the He-Destroyer, the He-Destroyer and I have talked about the She-Destroyer, and the He-Destroyer and the She-Destroyer have talked about me. Just a tad awkward, doncha think?

Okay. I admit it -- I do love the drama. Sometimes. Besides -- fodder for the memoir...

This is why I don't watch local news

So, the latest bit of sabre-rattling from Kim Jong Il has got East Asia and the West rattled, as usual, and rushing to make the usual denouncements and stern warnings which will make no impression on North Korea at all. It's how the game works, it's the way it's been for the last 50 years, and I can guarantee you that no one I worked with in Korea will pay more than a minute's attention to this piece of news.

I hate local news with a passion, and will leave a room to avoid watching it, but tonight, for some reason, I was lingering in Joiner's room after Studio 60 and the leading story was about the nuclear testing in North Korea. Which is fine, whatever, do your bit of international news and then move on to the local accidents and police chases, blabbity blah blah. But then they started talking specifically about Kim Jong Il, and in the course of giving some basic information about the leader, they felt the need to pointn out that he is "a man of small stature," about "5 foot 3," with a "bouffant" and who is "a bit of a playboy."

I ask you: WTF? What other world leader gets described like this? Joiner said of the neat notebook graphics that accompanied this stunning piece of journalism: "It's like it's his online dating profile or something." If the piece were about the eccentricities of Kim Jong Il, I could understand bringing these characteristics up. But in a hard news piece about nuclear capability? The kindest explanation is that the reporters don't understand the line between hard news and feature news details; the worst is that this smacks of a kind of subtle racism where hey, it's okay to make fun of the little Asian man with the funny hair! We don't have to take him seriously or anything, because he's such a wee, funny little man!

I mean, do local news reports make fun of Fidel Castro's hair and beard when they report on Cuba? The only reason I am not more up in arms about this is that I have such a low opinion the quality of local news that I think they probably do.

Shut UP, local news.

Squirrel v. Falcon: a non-drunk entry on a non-law school related topic

On Thursday (before the annoying negotiations seminar and the subsequent serious discussions followed by the serious drunkenness), I saw a group of people standing under a tree near a classroom building, looking up. Following the lines of their gazes, I saw a very large bird of prey chomping on something.

"What type of bird is it?" I asked.

"I think it's a peregrine falcon," the man next to me answered. That seemed like it could work, though he totally could have been lying.

The bird was really enormous -- the size of a small spaniel.

"What is it eating?" I asked.

"I don't know." "Maybe another bird?" "I saw a pigeon." "Or a squirrel?"

"Well, there are feathers lying on the ground, so I think it's another bird," someone said.

We watched for another few seconds quietly, until we saw a squirrel bounding up the tree, headed in the falcon's direction.

"Oh ho!" cried several people. "Watch out, squirrel!"

The falcon seemed perturbed, raising its wings halfway and resettling on the branch. A few more human comments pierced the air, calling for a rodent-fowl brawl. The squirrel crept closer to the bird and its prey. The falcon again half-raised its wings. And then -- it grabbed its meal and flew away.

A stunned silence fell over the group for a second, before a mix of jeers and surprised exclamations broke out. "Beaten by a squirrel!" "Hey, come back! Come back and fight!" "You can take him!" "Never thought I'd see that -- squirrel beats falcon!" "It left! I can't believe it!" "Yeah, maybe because we were all yelling at it?"

We hung around for a few moments more. The squirrel bounded along the branch to where the falcon had been perched. It sniffed the undoubtedly bloody patch with interest, and then scampered away. The humans slowly followed suit.

Oblivion

I just want to point out that I spelled the title of this entry correctly, which is a big victory, considering how amazigly watsed I am right now as this second. Why? Because I had a long seminar on emotions in negotiations where people in my group were talking over each other and yelling and I didn't like htat very much, and then a totally impromptu 2.5-hour long conversation about the racial and class segregation and tensions at school, culminatying in a decision (of sorts) to put on a series of discussions about same topics, and then seeing Ms. Destoryer totally accidentlaly because she ahppened to wander into the place i was having this disucssion and I was supposed to have gotten a call from her at 8:30 and she totoally did call me but I didn't hear her call and she wandered in accidentally to th eplace I was at anyway at 9:30.

So I ended up buying her TWO expensivo drinks, but they were kind of worth it, because i learned that: (1) she is in her slutty-expressive stage right now, halfway between unhealthy and healther; (2) she'd be totally willing to help put a series of talks together; (3) she doesn't hagve too many female friends and wants to hang out more; (4) she has guy firneds aplenty with whom she needs to hook me up; (6) she's a lot more fun (as most people are) when I'm freakin' wasted; and (6) Mr. Destoryer is dating someone who "looks a lot like [me] but not as cute."

I must admit. Totally buzzing, I spilled the beans on the email exchange i had with Mr. Destoryer, and she was like, "As a friend, I have to warn you." And told me that she feels for the girls he's dated because he pulls away from them when they reveal that they're actual people. And said, "I always felt a twinge because you and he always seemed to have a connection." (I sorrowfully put a hand on hers at this point. Clearly, I was way drunk already. But I felt for her.)

Anway. Am totally drunk (curse the Jackie O drinks at that upscale bar with the nice warm fierplace!) and totally revealed too much to the She-dEstroyer, and ... whatever. It's all gong into the memoir anyway, so it's good to have more drama about whch ti write.

And I'm totally going to bed right now. GOD. Wastedness -- so fun!

Damn. I just left a message for J2 that was so crazy -drunk. I hope she doesn't think I'm a total boozehoudn . Cuz I'm NOT. I j ust am a lightweight. Yup.

Please, please, hk, just go to bed and sotop embarrassing yourself.

Okey.

Dinged!

Well, it wasn't entirely unexpected. And it's actually good in a way, because I don't need more options to cloud up my already murky brain. But yes, I got the official rejection from the one Seattle firm I interviewed with last week, the one with an office in Anchorage. Their email was very nice, for what it was worth. I almost believed that they "sincerely enjoyed meeting [me]" last week.

The prom queen don't look so good this year, eh? Last year's prom queen never does... That is why you seize the day when it's your prom, and you get married to your corporate law whoredom as fast as your shiny Louboutins can carry you.

I interviewed for the Department of Labor today with two nice, slightly worn-looking lifers in DOL. I love government folks. They're so not slick and so earnest. And worn around the edges. It's nice.

More ding-a-lings: Last week? On Friday? After turning down an invitation to go out for Ms. Destroyer's birthday on Thursday night? Mr. Destroyer emails a really horribly passive aggressive, hurtful message that I MUST quote from in order to convey the full horror:

"In the course of an outing, we almost always hit a point of awkwardness because it's obvious we should be relating on a deeper level but won't. We brought it into the open once w/out saying much about it. The thing is, it'd be nothing but awkwardness if we saw each other more often."

But don't stop yet with the hidden messages and general fuckwittage!

"I could be totally wrong, of course; about you and about me. We haven't really spoken in, uh, a year, and we never really knew each other all that well. And the last person I trust about me is me."

And the denouement?

"Still. I doubt you'd even want to hang out more often. That said, I'm willing to take a quite responsible attitude towards our friendship. Very on the up and up, you know. So let me know, if you wish, whether you've time some time."

I respond with a little bit of faux naivety, attempting to prick the bubble of bullshit now stinking up the joint: "Dude. That is some serious shit. Um.... I am not sure what to say. ... I think you are an engaging, complex, and intriguing person, and I would be delighted to spend more time with you. Whenever you invite me to do something, I write back, and if I can't make it, I ask when you are free otherwise. This is how I normally operate with friends.... But the times I've done that with you, I usually don't get a response back, which makes me feel like you don't care about being friends, you just want people to hang out with when you think of something you want to do. I'm not sure how to reconcile that with your idea that we should be relating on a deeper level." Etc.

Oh ho! He writeth back:

"The idea of you scheduling an alternate date doesn't ring a bell, but perhaps that's how it worked. While I can't speak for others, I will anyway: I think [the Sunshine Band consisting of both Destroyers and the Mormon Who Loved Them] got the impression of you as the one who said she'd show up but hardly ever did. The one who wasn't really interested."

Um. In fact, your little band had such a weird dynamic that not only I but others felt ill at ease around you. Whatev. He continueth:

"I could always have figured you wrong, but it seemed as if there was an understanding that lent itself to talking about important things. What do I mean by understanding? I haven't the slightest clue. You have a certain gravity, you're observant and incisive, a little cranky but in a good natured way - but perhaps I just confused your "dispassionate" aspect for gravity. Huh. I don't know. The point being, that it occurred to me that I was drawn to talk to you about things, in an off the cuff sort of way that doesn't come across when reified into the written word, but maybe there wasn't reciprocity or maybe we both just balked."

Wha--? And huh--? Are you insulting me? Cause when you say -- "I think I mistook your lack of passion for a certain gravity. Boy, was I wrong!" -- that's not really so nice. On the other hand, am I supposed to be amused by your attempts at cleverness and smartness? Cause no one -- NO ONE -- uses the word "reified" in an email about their relationship with someone else. NO ONE. On the other other hand, am I supposed to be pleased because you felt some kind of mysterious connection and understanding?

You know what, fuck this. My brain hurts. And my message reflects that: "Huh. I don't know whether to be insulted, amused, or pleased."

But after his response to THAT, I was definitely insulted, and not in a "Omigod, you are SO inSULting! Hee hee!" way. Because this is what he writes:

"Insulted shouldn't be a surprise, but it sorta is. But I can see that you'd want to avoid complicated. ...But I think there are cracks in the way people act, and it's hard not to stare when something's flashing at you. ... But I do have a crack problem, so to speak. It's hard for me to say no. You know, not to look. Have a good weekend."

WhatEVER, bitch. You are a serious, serious a fuckwit, and I am DONE. I am NO LONGER AMUSED.

(But you are totally going to be part of the screenplay. AS A SLEAZY FUCKWIT, YOU ARE.)