Busy squared

Less than thirty days from now, this semester will be over and we'll be preparing for fall exams. Just looking at all that must be done before then is nothing less than overwhelming. But, if I can survive until Thanksgiving, I will finally get a decent break and also get some well-deserved rest....oh wait, no, that won't work because I have to write two papers. And by write, I mean research, outline, write, proofread, rewrite, repeat, and then submit both papers before the December 4 deadline. But, after the papers are completed, I can take it easy....well, not quite, because I then have to focus on studying for the Estates and Trusts exam on December 12...but after that the semester wil be over and I can....oh, I can and must complete my Comment for Law Review by December 21 (30-page minimum and same drill as the other papers, i.e., research, outline, write, proof, rewrite, etc.)....then, what's next? Christmas? Hmmm...guess I better start shopping online or else consider shopping December 22, 23, and 24....but, it will certainly be nice to rest during the remainder of Christmas break with no looming deadlines....I think ....hmmm....let's see when that Bar Application is due....yep, January 6. So, after Christmas and before January 6, I need to prepare the Bar Application and gather all of the attachments (birth certificate, complete criminal record, complete civil record, copies of all civil documents [divorce, separation], certified copies of all college transcripts, two sets of fingerprints, etc.) .....and that's ok, because after January 6 my life is going to be so much easier, and I'll have time to enjoy the last few days of Christmas break ..... until spring classes start on January 12. ....Oh, wait, I better use those dates to get some more letters and resumes in the mail because I'm still looking for a job. Who said the 3L year was easy?

Charlie

My foot is asleep. Completely numb--except for the pain shooting up my leg.

I have been working at my desk for hours--long before the sun came up--tapping out resumes and cover letters. And my right foot has been in the same position for most of that time, with Charlie draped across it.

Charlie is the new love of my life. She is a four month old puppy--part toy poodle and part bishon. She is white, and has the darkest eyes I've ever seen.

I wasn't looking for a puppy. My old dog, Abby, is still alive--although deaf, blind and crippled.

Life as a 3L is complicated enough without adding a pooping and peeing machine to my list of responsibilities. Charlie needed a home, though, and I couldn't say no.

Charlie's real name is Charlotte. She is part lady and part tomboy, so we're calling her Charlie.

Charlie moved in about two weeks ago and has rarely left my side since. Wherever I am, she is there. And, she is not content to be "in the room" with me, but she must be touching me. It may just be a paw or her snout or she may snuggle up next to me on the couch while the laptop occupies my lap, but she must be touching me. When I am at my desk, her favorite place to be is in my lap. But, if that's not possible, her next favorite place to be is under the desk draped across my feet. So, this morning, as the sun rises, and I try to make this a productive day, Charlie is sleeping on my feet.

Even when Charlie plays, she wants me to play. She will bring her tennis ball, bones, stuffed chipmunks and other toys and just drop them at my feet. She will nudge them my way. She'll give a slight growl to get my attention, and her ears will perk up when I notice her. She will get into "pounce" position, ready to attack the stuffed chipmunk or chase down the evil tennis ball. When I scoot off the couch and onto the floor to play, her energy level skyrockets. She runs and jumps with pure abandon. She is ecstatic. And I know that in 15 minutes, she will be absolutely exhausted and ready for a rest.

Typically, after playing, she will go to the laundry room and whine. She will look at her bed and then look at me. From the first day she arrived, I trained her that this is her bed. I took it with me from room to room and let her lie in it with it positioned next to me. Now, when she's tuckered out from playing, she wants to lie in her bed--just as I trained her--but now I'm the one who's trained to retrieve the bed and bring it near me. And, if I don't, she'll eventually drape herself across my feet.

When I run errands or go to school, it doesn't matter if I am gone for five minutes or five hours, Charlie is ecstatic upon my return. I know I am going to be greeted with jumping, barking, and a wagging tail. And she will not be happy until she is picked up and licking as much of my face as possible. Soldiers returning from war do not receive a warmer welcome.

When it's time for bed, I have to help her on and off the bed because she is much too small to jump. Typically there are two to four pillows on my bed, but Charlie must sleep on the same pillow with me. She has to be near my head or face. Usually I fall asleep to the aroma of puppy breath and wake up with a paw poking me in the eye or ear. And, in the middle of the night, should I move to another pillow, she will notice; and she will groggily follow suit.

In two short weeks I have trained Charlie where to poop and pee, when it is appropriate to bark, and when she may sit in my lap. I wonder if God wishes sometimes that he would have just stopped with dogs. They would have been far less trouble than people. They would have given unconditional love and never demanded anything in return. They would have wanted nothing more than to be close to Him, drape across His feet, and snuggle so close as to smell His breath. Oh, and they wouldn't have said, "there is no God"; even dogs aren't that stupid.

I wasn't shopping for a puppy and I wasn't looking for a lesson, but then came Charlie.

I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. You guide me with your counsel . . Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. . . . As for me, it is good to be near God. Psalm 73.

Irregular People

Irregular People is a wonderful book by Joyce Landorf Heatherley. I read it over 20 years ago. As a result of events this past week, I searched feverishly--to no avail--to find my worn-out, highlighted, dog-eared copy of that book. Either it got lost in the move or--more likely--I let someone borrow it.

Amazon only has used copies of the book available, but I ordered one for less than a buck (plus S&H). Today I feel like I need a dozen of 'em to pass out to family and friends who are tortured by the irregular people in their lives.

While googling the book title, I discovered a blog at Wordpress.com that said everything I intended to write today about my own Irregular Person (IP). The author writes: In my younger days, I was insecure enough that I felt responsible for the times when other people seemed unhappy with me or something I was doing. There were a couple of people in my life that could always find fault or ways to be disagreeable, no matter what I did. . . . I’ve recently been dealing with a person close to me who is as irregular as one can get. In fact, a regular Jekyl-Hyde personality. On good days, IP [Irregular Person] is a very giving, caring person who tries to help those in need, care for those not well and pleasant to be around. On bad days, IP disagrees with everything you say in an angry, hateful way. Then IP remembers everything IP’s ever done for you and uses it like a club to beat you over the head with and let you know what a terrible, unappreciative human you are. Of course, IP feels sorry later and uses excuses like not feeling well, didn’t understand, etc. or IP says IP doesn’t remember what was said.

The only comment that I would add to this blog is that the book taught me that I am not the Irregular Person. I am not at fault. More likely than not, nothing I say or do will ever change the Irregular Person. All I can control is how much I let this person control my life. Do I let her make me angry? or sad? or malicious? Do I blame her when I drink too much? or curse? or have a bad attitude? If so, then I have let this person have far too much power over me; and, in reality, perhaps I am even using this person as a crutch to continue in some bad habits, e.g., "She makes me so [fill in the blank] that I just had to [fill in the blank]."

In chapter one, Joyce writes, "Most everyone has one person in their life who truly makes living one continuous pain in the derriere. What heightens the pain is that this person is not a mere acquaintance of ours. No, unfortunately, it is more complicated than that, for we are related to them, by birth or by marriage." Joyce described my IP perfectly when she said, "this person is deaf, dumb, and blind to your needs no matter how hard you try to communicate. This person regularly breaks your heart with insensitivity and rejection."

For so long I felt like no one else shared this struggle, and it was isolating. Every other family seemed to be happy at birthday parties, weddings, and graduations. I didn't understand why my family's events typically had a dark cloud looming overhead. I wanted my family to be like the others, so naturally I thought I could fix this problem, and I would start by fixing me. I would be perfect. I would do everything that my IP expected of me. But, as you can imagine, that didn't work either. I would come away from a family gathering--or even a phone call--more perplexed than ever about how I could make this relationship "normal." The words from Irregular People were like a balm. This book helped me see that the IP is not happy when I am happy unless she is the one who has "made" me happy. She is going to be a negative person even in the most positive of situations, e.g., at an outdoor wedding, she must say, "It's going to rain; I told them they shouldn't have this wedding outside. This day is ruined."

When I confront the IP and tell her not to bother showing up (i.e., ruining) my daughter's birthday party if she's going to have a negative attitude, she shows up anyway, sits in the middle of the room, arms crossed, and lips buttoned, refusing to even say "Hello" when addressed. When finally asked, "What's wrong with you today?" She says, "I was told if I couldn't say something nice then I couldn't say anything." Once again, she must be in the center ring of the circus or she is absolutely miserable and will make you miserable as well.

And the list of scenarios could go on and on. I have a lifetime of stories that could crash blogger's server if I even tried to relay half of them. The bottom line is that this book finally made me realize that I am not the one with the problem, and I cannot fix the problem. I can only fix me--by the grace of God. I cannot cut my IP out of my life, but I can control her influence in my life. When I read Irregular People, I could feel myself healing. Joyce helped me understand the nature of my IP (and her maddening behavior), develop strategies for coping with her, recognizing (and handling) my negative reactions, and (the hard part) keeping forgiveness and reconciliation active in my life (without being her doormat).

If you do not have an irregular person in your life, fall to your knees and thank your Maker because you are truly blessed. But, if you have trouble with someone in your life--someone that you cannot walk away from because of family or marital ties--this book is for you. Even though it was written twenty years ago, its message is just as relevant today as then. I highly recommend it.

My daughter got engaged last week. I am so happy for her and her fiance and already consider him part of the family. Now there's a wedding to plan and, look, is that a dark cloud coming our way? Yes, I ordered the book and requested expedited delivery.

I am not a pussycat.

I have approximately 26 weeks left in law school (but who's counting). If anyone is ever interested in visiting law school--to see what all the fuss is about--consider this your open invitation to occupy the seat next to mine on any given day. I'll even let you sit between me and my friend, Jennifer; and I guarantee it will be an experience you'll never forget.

Law school can be intellectually stimulating; but, most semesters can be summarized as 12 weeks of boredom and busy work, followed by two weeks of intense studying, followed by two weeks of exams. Some students actually try to learn stuff during those first 12 weeks. I try to keep my sanity by not taking this Socratic method of learning too seriously.

Part of the therapy for surviving those first 12 weeks involves a combination of distractions, including instant messaging. I have developed a talent for looking intently at the professor, glancing at my book (as if taking notes from it), and then glancing back at the professor, all the while chatting online with a friend who is in the library or sitting three rows up. And some of the best laughs that I have ever had have occurred in the past two years--mainly because law school classes are not intended to be humorous; so, half of the humor in any given situation is in trying not to laugh--in the middle of estate tax class, while learning about powers of appointment--while chatting with someone online.

I have a top ten list of the funniest things ever to happen in our law school classes. Last week, a new No. 1 was crowned, and all the others were booted down a notch or two. I don't know if I can do this story justice in print, but I am going to try. If your sides aren't splitting when you read this, please call me and demand that I tell the story instead. I promise you that after 2+ years in law school, it is the funniest thing that has happened in class to date and literally brings me to tears every time I repeat it. Here goes:

Thursday is a long day for me. Classes start at 8:00 a.m., and my last class ends at 8:30 p.m. Except for a quick lunch break, I am in class or at work (in the lab) the remainder of the day, and by 6:00 p.m.--when the last class starts--I'm already a little punchy.

Last Thursday we had a guest speaker for Juvenile Law (the last class on Thursday)--a local juvenile court judge. In his bio, he told about his wife and kids, but, still, he was a bit effeminate. To pass the time, my friend, Jennifer, and I initially started betting on how many times he could flail his arms in one minute. On instant messaging, here's how that conversation got started:

6:26 PM me: this sounds like a coming out of the closet story
6:33 PM Jennifer: almost as exciting as a box of hair
6:36 PM me: what is in the water in salem?
6:42 PM Jennifer: this is horrible
6:43 PM me: nice guy, but definitely a flower child
Jennifer: do you think he does marijuana and crack, or just drops acid?
6:44 PM me: it's just a clear example of too much sweet tea
6:54 PM Jennifer: what is he talking about?
6:55 PM me: i left 7 minutes ago
6:56 PM Jennifer: Has time stood still?
me: let's count the times he flails his arms like clay aiken
Jennifer: 29, 30, 31, 32
33
6:57 PM 34
35
36
dickens!
42
me: STOP!
7:03 PM Jennifer: and we got 26 arm flails on that story
me: ohhh, reverse wave! ....what does that count?

The arm flails were quite distracting, and I was getting a little "giggly," as a result. And, in law school, the code of honor requires that when one student sees that another student is about to laugh out loud in the middle of a serious decision, it is that student's duty to push the other completely over the edge. Friend or foe, this is always a good game.

Jennifer could see I was struggling. I would occasionally cough to masquerade a laugh or just to let off some steam. I was trying to maintain my composure and tried even harder to intently listen to the guest speaker. But his mannerisms were just too humorous. His short, stout body, flailing arms, and squeaky voice reminded me of a cartoon character. But, finally, the judge moved on to a subject that interested me, so I asked a follow-up question, which was something like, "It sounds like first offenders are offered a measure of grace in your courtroom, but what do you do when they appear before you for the second or third time?" To which the judge moved closer to my seat (on the second row) and with a double flail of the arms said, "Well, (flailed arms up) I don't want you to think that I'm some kind of pussycat! (flailed arms down)"

And what he said after that is really unimportant, because I didn't hear a word. Instead, in my peripheral vision, I could see Jennifer pouncing on the keyboard, and I was certain that it was about the "pussycat" comment. To diffuse her incoming message (which I was sure would send me over the edge), I rattled off a quick message to her and beat her to the punch--or so I thought...

7:20 PM me: i just made him say 'pussycat' Wow!
Jennifer: hey there pussycat!

Pretty funny, huh? Oh, I hope so. I know I can tell this story a whole lot better than I can write it; but, the humor in it all is that I don't think I have ever heard a judge (or any other grown man) use the word "pussycat" when referring to anything other than a female cat. The entire comment just caught me off guard, combined with the physical and mental exhaustion, and I was now losing the battle of the giggles. And, Jennifer, started throwing everything at me, but a lifeline...

So, while the judge is yammering on and on about how serious it is to be a repeat offender in his courtroom, Jennifer starts bombarding me with the lyrics to Tom Jones' famous song, "What's New, Pussycat?"


7:21 PM Jennifer: what's new pussycat
7:22 PM Jennifer: Woah, Woah

Ok, this was funny. And I smiled. And I thought, "I remember that song. Wow. What a long time ago." But, Jennifer wasn't done.

7:22 PM Pussycat, Pussycat
I've got flowers
And lots of hours
To spend with you.
So go and powder your cute little pussycat nose!

Dang it! She has googled the lyrics and is sending them to me one line at a time.

7:25 PM Jennifer: What's new pussycat? Woah, Woah
What's new pussycat? Woah, Woah
Pussycat, Pussycat
You're so thrilling
And I'm so willing
To care for you.
So go and make up your cute little pussycat face!

I finally was able to gain my composure and send a response.

7:26 PM me: I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!!
7:27 PM 8+ minutes on this question
7:29 PM 10 minutes

And, notice, I was trying to change the subject; but, Jennifer wouldn't let the pussycat song go...not yet.

7:31 PM Jennifer: Last verse....
What's new pussycat? Woah, Woah
What's new pussycat? Woah, Woah
Pussycat, Pussycat
You're delicious
And if my wishes
Can all come true
I'll soon be kissing your sweet little pussycat lips!

One line at a time she fed it to me; and, by the time she got to end, I was a goner. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, and I couldn't even make eye contact with the judge. I sent one final message to her...

7:34 PM me: you are evil

At 7:34 I found the strength to close my laptop without completely losing control. I knew that I couldn't look at Jennifer or we would both burst into laughter, get kicked out of class, and probably expelled from law school. A week later, though, we are still laughing about the entire pussycat adventure. There have been some funny moments in law school, in class, online, and in study groups; but, nothing in these two and a half years has come close to last Thursday evening, with our guest speaker, and the gift that he dumped in our laps when he said, "I don't want you to think that I'm some pussycat!" Priceless!

The story has now circulated amongst our circle of friends, and we are all smiling like Cheshire cats when we greet each other with, "What's new?" I passed a librarian in the hall yesterday, we exchanged the required pleasantries; and then when he was about three steps past me, he said, "Meow." I almost wet my pants.