Sigh of relief

The paper, she is wrote. The tests, they be taken.

For the past two days I have been running errands at a leisurely pace, cleaning up the mess in my room and in my brain, and seeing nearby friends. A good way to lead up to the holidays.

Also for the past two days, I have been watching Firefly episodes and mourning the fact that there are only 14 episodes in the series to obsess over (curse you, Fox, for canceling the series way back in 2003!). As infinitely weird as the wild west/space cowboy/soap opera combo is, it works. Damn you, Joss Whedon, for delivering another quality TV show with compelling storylines, intriging characters, and really, really good special effects! You see, way back when hk was a tadpole right out of college, she and her friends gathered each week to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer and talk trash about the outfits Sarah Michelle Gellar wore on the show. hk actually had to stop going to those weekly watchings, because she has a very wide obsessive streak, and she was getting way too sucked into the show. She had Buffy on the brain, you see, and it was too distracting. And now she's got Firefly on the brain. Thanks, Joss Whedon. You suck. By which I mean, your creative talents should be MINE.

Firefly collateral damage: I've also developed an embarrassing full-blown crush on the lead actor, Nathan Fillion. (Hey, at least he's age-appropriate.) Nathan! Sweetpea! Shine those baby blues in my direction!

(By the way, Stephen Colbert, that doesn't mean I'm still not yours, now and forever. Still waiting by the phone for you to call too, honeypie.)

As most of you know, I'm not spending the holidays with the fam. Instead, I leave on Christmas day for parts far flung and undeveloped -- specifically, Ethiopia, with The Ringleted One. It's gonna be life-changing, I can feel it. I'm looking forward to seeing my life for what it is.

Al...most...there...

The good: The disgusting, no-good, icky, loathesome, abominable, repulsive, beastly and generally cursed piece of business called "corps final" and "bankruptcy class and final" are done and over with, and it is now time to burn the books and salt the earth over which the ashes are unceremoniously dumped.

The bad: They (the finals) were terrible. I will be happy to receive Cs on both.

The good again: I don't care.

The bad again: Now I have to return to the paper that made me cry in my professor's office last week.

The middling: I'm very close to finishing, relatively speaking. Just 10 double-spaced pages away from freedom.

The end.

Not really the home stretch, or alternatively, My Stupid Fucking Reflection Essay

I don't think it can even be called the home stretch -- I still haven't had any exams (Tuesday and Wednesday, they are), and while I've turned in one paper for my clinical, I have yet to write much of my seminar paper (for which I did get the extension -- crying jags: good for something in the end).

But I've done the minimum for both of my exams by going through all my notes and readings, and tomorrow I'll do a couple practice exams for both, and then I take 'em and then I write the other half of my 20-pager, and then... then I collapse on my bed and stare at the ceiling.

And tonight, I write the 4- to 5-page "reflection paper" for my seminar, or as I call it, "my stupid fucking journal on what I learned in class." It's only a couple pages, and it's barely worth the aggro that I feel, but really. After 10 weeks of having to write journals documenting how we've practiced the skills in class, I am SICK of "reflecting." And this coming from one of the most self-absorbed people I know -- me!

I'll write about how I learned thst X is really effective and how I'll apply Y in my personal and professional life, but what I'd really like to write is something like this:

What I've learned in this class is that law students are the worst people in the world with whom to have discussions about emotions [the topic of the course] and relationships. What a bunch of blowhards and egotistical maniacs! (Although, it was kind of amusing, in a horrific sort of way, to hear one of the business school cross-registrants say, "I was really anxious about doing a group project until I realized that the people I was working with were just as good writers as I am! And as smart as I am!" To be fair, the same student was self-aware enough to ask later in the course, "What if you have an unpleasant personality? How does that affect your negotiations?")

I also learned that I never want to write about personal topics for school again. That it's never a good idea to actually try to apply lessons to real life -- because yes, it's psychically painful to think about these topics, but also because the type of rigorous thinking that is taught in law school is best left for non-emotion-related topics. Which is why a course like this is a bad idea.

Because of this class (and another touchy-feeling course I took this term), I learned that I shouldn't take any law school classes that aren't large lectures on straight legal topics. Go Capital Markets Regulation! Woo! I also learned that you do much more work for a 2-credit seminar than it's worth. Oh, and that I hate negotiating. But thanks for the snacks! Bye!

Breaking down

For whatever reason -- long, difficult semester; family troubles; lack of encouragement; lack of sleep; lack of true vacation; lack of anything resembling equanimity about law school anymore -- I had a truly stupendous breakdown in my negotiation professor's office on Tuesday afternoon while talking to him about my paper.

First it was just tearing up over the prospect of having to change directions on the paper when I have no time to rewrite it, then it was long supremely uncomfortable silent moments when I was suppressing sobs trying not to wail, and then it crescendoed into tears that just would not stop, and I nearly ran out of his office, head down, clutching a Kleenex and burning with embarrassment and misery.

It's not that he didn't like my paper idea, but he also never really said anything encouraging about it, instead suggesting all kinds of things I could do in lieu of my original plan, all of which were fine ideas and that I would have taken constructively had I not been on the precipice anyway. (Although, he also didn't say things that would have been really helpful, things like "I would probably do it this way" or "I like that idea" or "Damn, you're really stressed. Why don't I give you an extension?")

The paper is about my family, and how to negotiate some difficulties we've been having, so I'm sure that is at core what the problem was. As the prof pointed out, I'm good at compartmentalizing and focusing on what needs to get done, but when the thing you need to get done requires you to reach into the big box where all the scary, dark, troubled hobgoblins lurk, it's hard to focus.

Strangely -- have you had this happen to you? -- it was made worse by his expressions of sympathy. At one point, having already teared up and again on the verge of tears, I decided I should go before I totally broke down (ha!). So I managed a tight smile and said thanks and tapped my papers into order, and he said, "Wait. I can't let you go like this." And then I totally bawled. And couldn't stop.

I said something inane about his class being very useful to me because I had learned skills to use in these personal situations, and while I was saying this, tears were running down my blotchy red face and he said, "Thank you," and handed me a tissue. Which was kind of funny.

His secretary yelped an astonished, "My god, are you all right?" when I walked out, and I think I gasped out a "Ye-es, I'm fi-ine" before rushing away to cry for another 15 minutes in the nearest bathroom.

Well, it was about time for breakdown. I don't think I've had like that since my first year of law school. I wish it hadn't been so public, though.

On the up side, I think the possibility of getting an extension have been greatly enhanced.

Funny, I'm not really that embarrassed about it. I don't particularly care if people know I'm having a hard time of it. I would be deeply sympathetic if someone was so clearly in so much distress, and I know most people are the same way. I just... I don't know. It's a hard time.

God, I really hope he gives me that extension. I worked 14 hours yesterday on corporations and my brain is fried, which is why I did virtually nothing today about bankruptcy.

Totally random non-finals-related tribute

Peter Boyle died today, which I'm kind of sad about. I guess he was best known for his role on Everybody Loves Raymond, but I became a fan of his from his one-time guest spot on The X-Files, way back in 1995.

In that episode, for which he justly won an Emmy, Boyle played a curmudgeonly psychic named Clyde Bruckman (and this is also why I loved that series in the early days - Chris Carter gave a one-time character a name and a fully thought out personality and life). Clyde's psychic abilities are, depressingly, limited to seeing how people die (which is why he's uniquely suited for his job as a life insurance salesman). Despite his crusty exterior, he's a kind-hearted man, and he of course ends up reluctantly helping Mulder (whom he treated with some disdain) and Scully (whom he clearly adored).

Somehow, I've managed to watch that episode a handful of times on TV, and I like it even more each time. It's amazingly well-written, with nary an extraneous shot or conversation. The storyline is lean, but the details and hints dropped along the way all tie together beautifully at the end of the hour, which documents not only a satisfying conclusion to the policework but a touching farewell to the character. (God, Chris Carter, you really were that good. What happened at the end?) Boyle managed to deliver the quirky lines and convey the dark humor with the right balance of gravity and gentleness, so that when you see the tears on Scully's face at the end, you understand why she grieves over the death of someone she only met a few days ago.

Of course, you gotta love an actor who can deliver the following:

Scene: Clyde is sitting in the back seat while Mulder and Scully drive to a place Clyde thinks a murder victim is hidden.

Clyde Bruckman: You know, there are worse ways to go, but I can't think of a more undignified way than autoerotic asphyxiation.

Mulder: Why are you telling me that?

Clyde Bruckman: Look, forget I mentioned it. It's none of my business.

Anyway. Peter Boyle. Good actor. By the by, John Lennon was the best man at the wedding, which is impressive, but I'm even more impressed that he was married to his wife, a journalist, for 30 years when he passed away.

Now I am really going back to corporations. God. Why do I waste time doing this?

How to waste time

Weirdness! While procrastinating from corporations studying, I checked out my blog entries from a year ago, and came across this prophetic entry, in which I was professionally hypnotized thanks to Neener and came up with the very same answer I did last week about firms.

Why do I waste time going over decisions that I've already made?

And why am I writing this when I should be reading corporations (remember, the 400-odd pages I haven't read this semester)?

For that matter, why do OTHER people waste MY time by coming into the seminar room I've been camped out in all day and asking, "We're trying to hold a discussion group. Can you move? There's a guy studying across the hall quietly by himself."?

I almost did it -- almost felt pressured enough to move. But then -- hell, NO. I am studying for FINALS, you sub-humans (I assume from their utter cluelessness that they were first years), and I will NOT move. (Actual words: "You know I'd really rather not move.")

And they have the gall to say: "But -- you don't have this room reserved, do you?" "This room seats about 50." (Translation into real message: "Why won't you move to make our lives easier?" "What's your problem, 'ho?")

So I get a little annoyed, and say, "That's not how it generally works. It's first-come, first-serve." (Translation: "Step off, bitches!")

"So you're the only one who gets to use this room?" (Translation: "So you're the only one who gets to use this room, 'ho?")

"No, it's just first-come, first-serve. Look, did you ask the guy across the hall if he's okay with someone sitting with him? Or whether he would move?" (Translation: "Listen, you little snot-nosed, self-entitled, self-absorbed idiot, don't come in here and mouth off to your betters! You thought you could ask the quiet Asian girl to move and she'd do it, huh? Well, UP YOURS.")

"Listen, we're just wasting our time." (Translation: "This girl is a total and complete asshole and we need to get her out of our faces.")

"Sorry, guys." (Translation: "Get lost, you little sub-human creeps.")

And they left. And I fumed. And then I studied. Kind of. For a little while. But I'm going back to it! Right now.

Buh-bye, fall classes! (Good riddance.)

Yesterday (meaning Friday), I had my last class, went to my final hours of clinical, wrote up the last couple pages of my now finished-if-crappy clinical paper due on the 15th, and then had champagne and Mexican food with Joiner and Bubbles, another public interest girl who just got the prestigious Skadden fellowship for next year. (And when I say prestigious, I mean prestigious -- there are only 25 given each year for the whole country.)

And thus ends classes, and we zoom into prep for finals. I spent today outlining a paper due on the 18th and writing half of it, because even though it seems like there's plenty of time, I NEED at least four days each for bankruptcy and corporations, both of which worry me for different reasons -- bankruptcy because it's HARD (wah!) and because the prof has actually failed people in the past, and corporations because I skipped class for three weekds during the most important section of the course (securities law, which is so ironic, because I kind of think it's kind of interesting) and because I have read about 100 pages out of the 600 we were assigned for the semester. Yeah.

So I am caught in the eternal internal tug-of-war that takes place during reading period, which is that I want this term to be OVER and ENDED and the last final can't come soon enough, but I also need more timetimeTIME to studystudySTUDY, and quelling the panic just becomes something you build into your schedule.

This term was a bit ridiculous in how much I was running around. It really did not help that I had to go into town four days a week and that preparing for bankruptcy class took a minimum of 12 hours each weekend. Next semester I am taking it easy, I swear. And for winter term (three weeks in January) I am definitely taking it easy because I am just writing my third year paper. I'm not even going to be in Crimson City for half that time (shh!) becaue I'm gambling that my advisor won't be with it enough to realize that I said I'd turn something in every week. (Let's pray.)

Oh, where will I be? Ethiopia, with the Ringleted One. Hence the yellow fever, tetanus, typhoid, and malaria precautions. (Fortunately, I'm up to date on all forms of hepatitis.)

But I can't even think of that now. Everything must go perfectly on schedule and according to plan in the next week and a half, else I will be crying like a baby on the 18th (20-page paper and 5-page journal due), 19th (corps exam) and 20th (bankruptcy). And that plan says I go take a shower and get me to bed now.

Okay, it's done

After the newest iteration of the "are my aunt and uncle coming to graduation?" negotiation (latest: now they say they aren't, after saying they would two months ago), I put on my crankified authoritarian cap and did the deed: I called the New York office of the British firm and said, yes, I'm accepting your offer.

(And then spent three hours after that emailing and calling all the other firms with offers outstanding with variations on this message: "Really sad not to be accepting YOUR offer, 'cause I love you and all the people in your firm, and someday I might be looking for another job, so will you then love me back with the intensity of your current love and give me an offer then too? Cool, thanks, byeeee!" To which the Seattle firm said, "Of course, sweet cheeks. Call us!" And to which the Passive Aggressive But Prestigious NY Firm said, "Uh, lose our number and don't even think about entering our hallowed hallways again. See ya, LOSAH!" Further reason to metaphorically moon them.)

And so it is done. Except I left an out by saying I might look for a public interest job, so you have to hold my offer open til April 15 -- nyah nyah! But I probably won't actually do a public interest job, not when the firm will pay for relocation, bar review classes, test fees, bar membership, and all the rest.

I breathe a sigh of relief, and a sigh of resignation. And I keep doing those self-exploratory questions that the career shrink gave me.

And now, it is time to buckle down and study for finals.

Random. Oh, so random.

I am LOVING Kate Havnevik right now. Grey's Anatomy, you pick cool music. Also - nice choice to focus on Cristina and Burke last week, because the Meredith-Derek minuet was getting a bit much: "I love you so I'm walking away!" "Uh, okay! You take the space you need!" "No wait, I realize I need you!" "But you walked away!" "But still!" "Okay, let me look searchingly in your eyes as I glance at yet another scruffy but hot competitor over your shoulder, after which, let's make out in the bar!" "Cool!"

Best new TV show this fall, though? Ugly Betty. Talk about crisp, funny writing. See also: catchy, non-annoying characters. See also: obviously well-thought out plot development (okay, not hard when you're lifting it from the telenovela). See also: Eric Mabius (hot damn).

Oh yeah - so apparently I'm supposed to tell the British firm tomorrow about whether I'm taking their offer or not, but since I just "interviewed" with their New York office last week and sent a bunch of questions to them yesterday that they haven't responded to yet, do I really have to decide by tomorrow? Can't I get an extension?

By the way, my arm hurts, possibly because I got a tetanus booster, a flu shot, and a yellow fever vaccination this afternoon. If I wake up sneezy and yellow (har har!) tomorrow, you'll know what happened.