Sleep is optional.

The brief was due Monday. I hate writing briefs, especially law school briefs. A "real life" brief cannot be this painful because in "real life" we are dealing with a real judge and a real file and real clients. But, all of the whining about why I hate writing briefs will not spare me from submitting a brief by the deadline.



I invest minimal time working on the brief over the weekend. By Sunday afternoon, I realize that it is "time to get inspired." Actual inspiration does not kick in until about 2:00 a.m. Monday morning. This is the time that I should be "proofreading" and "perking it up." Instead, I am still researching and praying for a miracle. And, I am not the only one. All night long I am IMing with the other procrastinators who have delayed the inevitable.



By 6:00 a.m. I am about 75% done with the brief. My decision to skip school is quickly overruled by an email reminder from my boss about a promotional I have planned for the computer lab. Great; well, if I must go to school for the promotional, there's no reason to skip class. Anyway, I hate skipping class when I've actually done the reading. So, I drop the brief long enough to get ready for school, and I am in class by 8:30 a.m.



Out of class by 11:30 a.m. And then I contribute two hours to the promotional table. By 2:00 p.m. I am back on the brief. I have one more argument that needs some support (research) and then I need to proofread. By 4:00 p.m. the work is done. I am home and in bed by 5:00 p.m. I sleep for almost 10 hours before getting up in time to read for Tuesday's classes. In spite of the sleep, I am still tired today. Hopefully, I will catch up on my sleep, and not pull another "all-nighter" next Sunday when there is another deadline for another brief due next Monday.

Good days and bad.

Monday was not a good day. Decisions had to be made that, unfortunately, I may pay for in the future. I had volunteered to participate in an in-house ADR tournament (i.e., a negotiations tournament), which would consume most of Wednesday, Friday and Saturday of this week. I have been on the ADR Board since its inception (last year), and I really enjoy negotiating and mediating cases, so I was quite excited about participating in our first in-house tournament . . . until I received the factual scenario last week.

I realize that with the first tournament, mistakes are going to be made by the committee. I think the first mistake was choosing a very complicated factual scenario (dealing with natural resources, IPOs, and generating capital). This tournament is open to the entire school, so it really puts the 1L class at a disadvantage. The 1L teams are so excited about the tournament; they have no idea they are going to be annihilated based on the subject matter alone.

The second disadvantage was that all teams were only given one week to work on the scenario. Once I received the scenario last week, I knew that I was over my head. Worse yet, my negotiations partner was out of town at a moot court tournament, so we couldn’t even prepare until Monday. By the time Monday morning rolled around, I realized that this was going to be a very busy week, even if I didn’t participate in the tournament; so, my partner and I bowed out, which effectively pissed off the entire tournament committee and ADR officers.

Some of these people actually confronted my partner, but no one has yet approached me. Frankly, I only feel bad about committing to the tournament and then bowing out. But, I/we didn’t ask for a refund of the entry fee, and I/we bowed out as soon as we knew we weren’t going forward. The tournament committee needs to learn some valuable lessons through all of this, like (1) have a Plan B; and (2) give teams ample time to prepare; and (3) be aware that the students who are participating in your tournament are doing so on a voluntary basis and it is possible that school work, graded assignments, or readings may actually take a priority.

Honestly, though, I do feel badly about bowing out and I know that I need to learn some valuable lessons, like it's better NOT to over commit than to over commit and then back out; and it's better NOT to over commit and then kill yourself trying to keep all those commitments. I guess all I can say is . . . I'm trying.

By March or April we will be electing a new editorial board for the law review, and I really want a seat on the editorial board because (1) it is prestigious; (2) looks good on the resume; and (3) is twice as many credit hours as simply being a "senior member" of law review. But, many of the members of the ADR Board are also on the law review nominating committee, so I may have sealed my fate for an editorial board position. Only time will tell about that, but I realize that it is a possibility. I'm going to try to pray about that matter and let it go. I do not have any control over what has been done nor is there any benefit in fretting about what will be. Time will tell, and I'll go forward from there.

Tuesday was a great day. I had a job interview with a firm that I really, really like. They are the largest firm in the region, with offices in North Carolina, Virginia, West Virginia, and Pennsylvania. The interview went great! The attorney really loved me. Thought he was going to ask me out on a date...which would have been fine. (I really don't have any ethics when it comes to getting that first job, ya know. ;-) Anyway, then he dropped the bomb....oh, he's not on the recruiting committee, and he doesn't know if the firm will even let him hire summer associates, but he wants to, and he wanted to meet some of the bright students at the law school. Isn’t that precious? Well, concentrating on the bright side, it's a step in the right direction and I'm trying to have sufficient faith to believe that something good can come of this. I really do like the firm and thought the interview went well. He told me, "You aren't going to have any problem finding a job." From his mouth to God's ears.

So, now it’s Wednesday. My motion (due today) is in its final stages. I have to prep for three classes tomorrow (my busiest day of the week), and I have to start researching a brief that is due Monday. I’m hopeful that today will be a follow up to Tuesday. I really do prefer the good days; don’t we all.

All I want is a pretzel

What has happened to customer service? Does it even exist anymore in the American marketplace? Of course, I do not expect customer service when I have opted for "self-serve"; but I'm talking about the folks across the counter who have what I am willing to buy. Why should I have to beg them to take my money?

I was passing through North Carolina today and decided to stop at one of my favorite malls. While there, I remembered that there was this small shop that sold delicious pretzels. First I had to find a directory, then I had to locate the shop on the map, then I had to make my way through the maze of twists and turns to get to the delicious pretzels. By the time that I saw the sign, I was already salivating. I envisioned taking my warm treat and a big fountain drink straight to the truck so that I could munch and slurp on the ride home. But I couldn't get anyone to wait on me! There were four employees behind the counter. One employee was waiting on the lady in front of me. Another employee was making pretzels. Another employee was toying with the cash register. And the fourth employee was talking to the one toying with the cash register.

I stood there for at least two minutes--which is quite a long time for a person who hates to wait in line. The lady in front of me had two children with her, and they seemed as excited as I about the prospect of the pretzels. I really didn't fault them for taking their time, because that's exactly what I intended to do. But, I was inflamed by the two other workers behind the counter who absolutely refused to acknowledge my presence. Couldn't one of them take my order? I don't know, because even though we made eye contact, they never uttered a word to me. Even a simple, "We'll be with you in just a moment" would have been nice. But I got nothing. So, I made a drastic decision (that I hoped I wouldn't regret), and I walked away.

I decided that there are numerous covenience stores that sell those tasty pretzels, and I stopped at one of my favorite stores on earth (Sheetz--highly recommended) and picked up a yummy sandwich and fresh, warm, soft, salty pretzel. It was yummy, and worth the wait.

I don't want to seem like an Andy Rooney sound bite, but what has happened to customer service? My daughter went to the cell phone company last week to get some answers about a charge on her bill. The young girl who waited on her was "quite helpful" according to my daughter, but do you know what help she offered? She told me daughter that she would have to call the 800 number on the phone bill to resolve the matter!!! Once again, I was enraged when I heard this! How assinine is that system? If I were to walk into this same cell phone store and want to pay my bill or change my service or buy a phone, they would gladly help me; but, because I have a question about my bill I have to call an 800 number? Aren't YOU the company that I am calling about this charge?

As much as I wanted to get involved in that scenario, I just did not have time. But all I want is for the server at the restaurant or the cashier at the counter or the paper boy or the sales clerk to do their job and their job is taking care of the customer. I do not need to be caudled; I just want to be served--even when all I want is a pretzel.

Spring is here . . . and then it isn't

My day started at 4 a.m. I had to finish preparing for one class; but, more importantly, I had to prepare for a negotiation assignment. The morning slipped away from me, and I did not have time to exercise before school (a recent ritual I have added to my morning routine). I arrived at school at 7:30 a.m. to meet with my partner, review a few final details regarding our strategy, and then we entered the negotiation room at 8:00 a.m.

Fast forward seven hours, and it's 3:00 p.m. I have been in classrooms or the library since arriving this morning, so I am absolutely delighted when I hit the doors and find that it is sunny and 75 degrees. I heard the weather man say it would be "unseasonably warm" today, but who knew he was talking about 75 degrees? On the ride home, the windows are down, and I am quickly developing a plan that includes me and sunshine for the afternoon.

First things first, though. I take Abby on a long walk so that she can enjoy the sunshine as well. I notice that the ducks have returned to our pond--Mallards, two male and one female. They weren't here this morning--at 5:00 a.m.--when I last walked Abby. For whatever it's worth, I'm taking their return as a sign that the worst of winter is behind us.

After taking care of Abby, I quickly changed into a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I packed a few books in my bag and decide to do tomorrow's reading outdoors. The plan is to pick up something quick for an early dinner, then return to campus and soak up some sunshine while doing the obligatory reading assignments. Afterward, before day's end, I will catch up on the exercising that I had to skip this morning--perhaps with a walk around campus or a jog at the track.

By the time I make it back to campus it is 4:00 p.m., and I head for the baseball field. There's a wonderful grassy hill that runs along the first base line. On almost any warm day you will find students lined up along this hill studying, reading, picnicking, etc., and today is no different.

Clouds were moving in and the wind was picking up by the time I unpacked my books. I settled in and started reading. The wind was brisk, and I didn't bring a blanket or coat. Just a few minutes earlier I had left the house in shorts and a t-shirt, and now I seemed woefully under-dressed. Within 15 minutes, I looked around, and I was the only person left on the hill . . . and I was freezing! I just couldn't believe how drastically the weather had changed in such a short time; but, by this time, the temperature had dropped to 65 degrees, and the wind made it feel cooler than that.

By 5:00 p.m., I am home and wondering how such a good idea could turn into such a bad idea in such a short amount of time. In short, there was no wonderful afternoon of studying on the hillside, and there was no exercising on campus. I made a point of coming home and crawling under a blanket while I watched the early evening news. And I can't help but wonder if those ducks are warm tonight.

Goodbye, my friend.

We are a mere three weeks into this semester and already it has been quite tumultuous. While I have a few minutes, let me see if I can do this story justice.

For whatever reason, law school professors have a difficult time grading exams in a timely fashion. So, we received our fall grades on the Friday before spring semester started. Like most students, we all arrived at school on Monday ready for classes, but also ready to catch up with friends that we hadn’t seen since the hell of final exams six weeks earlier. By the end of Monday, our class involuntarily lost two of its members. They were there on Monday, and then they were gone. The assumption is that they were on academic probation and did not make satisfactory progress. Both had meetings with the dean on Monday and both did not return; thus, the assumption.

One of these classmates was a dear friend. We studied together during finals, and we spent a lot of time together during the semester. I remember one day as we were walking into tax class I told her, “If he calls on me today, please help because I didn’t do the homework.” To which she replied, “What? Well, I was counting on you to do the homework because I didn’t do it either.” First of all, let me state the obvious, i.e., I always do my homework . . . well, almost always; but, a girl has got to sleep some time.

During the five minutes that we had before class started we were trying to skim the material and quickly realizing that it was quite detailed and we were sufficiently screwed. I was starting to panic and hyperventilate. Not to mention that the “unprepared” neon sign was flashing over my head.

By the time the professor walked into the classroom, fear suddenly engulfed my entire body. I did not want to be the student who was humiliated in class for being unprepared and then asked to leave. I looked at my friend, and she looked at me. In her eyes I could see that same fear. We knew what would happen if either of us were called on during class. I said, “Let’s skip.” She said, “Ok.” And we both just walked out of class. We didn’t close our books. We didn’t take our laptops. There wasn’t time for that! Class was about to start, so we just walked out.

Since this was such a spontaneous decision, we also didn’t have a plan. There wasn’t too much we could do since we had another class in an hour; so, we ended up spending the hour at Sonic, laughing at the irony of the situation. When the hour was over, we walked back into the room and just traded out our books for the next class—for which we both were prepared.

And now she is gone. Not only is she gone from school, but she is gone from my life. She won’t return phone calls. She won’t respond to e-mails or text messages. I know she is upset and that this is going to take time to heal, and probably the last person she wants to talk to is a law student. Last week she moved out of her house and returned to her home state. I doubt that our paths will ever cross again. Another classmate now occupies her seat. But I hope I was more than a law student or classmate to her; I hope I was her friend. Better yet, I hope I am her friend. And I hope that, in time, when the hurting has healed, she will reach out to me.

So much more is happening. Law review has been hell. I almost quit law review last week, but that story will have to wait for another day. Some of my professors just make me want to bang my head against a wall; other professors convince me to do otherwise. The plans for the summer are still up in the air, not to mention plans for employment. And life goes on for this mature—yet tired—law student. And that’s about all the time that I have for today.

47 to go

We are officially one week into the new semester. At this juncture, I am at the mid-point of my law school career. During the Christmas break--after I finally recuperated from the mental and physical exhaustion--I found myself eagerly anticipating the new semester. In a sense, I am ready to "get it done."

But then, grades were posted. And professors started bombarding us with assignments via e-mail. Then the law review editor sent a message to the entire staff that I identify as the "straw that broke the camel's back." By the time I arrived on campus Monday morning, even before the first class, I was already tied up in knots and had a raging bad attitude.

We have professors who seem incompetent. They scored a 180 on the LSAT (no doubt), but their family would starve if they had to actually practice law for a living. I have resigned myself to the fact that I am doing some type of civil service for saving the judicial system from total ruin by keeping these "lawyers" in the world of academia. Every law school in the country places a high importance on the LSAT score. The closer to perfection (i.e., 180), the more prestigious offers a student will receive. I have professors who graduated at the top of their class and attended top ten schools. One day, when I rule the ABA and revamp the law school admission process, these professors will be Exhibits A, B, and C demonstrating the ineptness in that system. Their incompetence as teachers and communicators makes my blood boil. For instance, one professor commented about the Duke lacrosse rape case, and he said something like, "When I was a prosecutor, I found that the best thing to do in situations like that was just to just wait it out. If Mr. Nifong had just waited for six or eight months--or even a year--before bringing charges against the Duke students, then the entire episode would have died down and the media would have moved on to some other story."

To those of you who do not find this solution to be outrageous and simple-minded, you certainly must be unfamiliar with Durham, North Carolina. I dare to think what would have happened to the City of Durham if Mr. Nifong (the white district attorney) had decided not to charge the white, preppy, privileged, Duke lacrosse players when they had been accused of raping the black stripper at their frat house. Considering the racial tension in Durham, North Carolina, at the time, I dare to think what people would have done to protest that decision. Obviously Mr. Nifong did not have the same months of experience as a prosecutor as this law school professor. (Yes, that is sarcasm.) Subsequent to those charges, and in light of the physical evidence, there is no doubt Mr. Nifong made some poor decisions. The best news for the City of Durham though is that it survived Mr. Nifong's shortcomings, and that Mr. Nifong did not seek counsel from law school professors.

We also have student leaders who have never held a public job in the real world so they have not developed life and work skills that are essential to teamwork. Most of them, as well, are geniuses in their own respect and work well when working alone, but they cannot "lead" in spite of being in leadership positions. They assume that because they can write a good essay exam or score well on multiple choice, that they can do something as simple as leading a group of students. Famous (and frustrating) last words.

Finally, the most gut-wrenching events of this week included the loss of three classmates. One classmate transferred (kudos for her), and two others did not return. Well, technically, they returned to class on Monday, with the rest of us. But, at some point during the day, there were meetings and decisions (all of which we are not privy to) and they did not return to class anymore this week. I do not know details; and, frankly, do not need to know the personal details of their lives. But one of these classmates (who I will call Elizabeth) was such a good friend to me. I knew that she had struggled with grades during her first year. This fall, I made a concerted effort to take her under my wing and to study with her and help her along. During the final exam marathon, I invited her to be part of my study group, and she was there much of the time.

Final exam grades were not posted until the Friday before classes started. She returned to school on Monday. I thought that was a good sign. But she has not been back since. I know she is a very private person, and this is probably a huge embarrassment to her. Yet, I am only speculating about these circumstances. For all I know, she could have said, "I don't want to do this anymore." That would have been totally understandable. We actually had that conversation during final exams, and--at that time--I hoped it was just the exhaustion talking. For whatever reason, she left school on Monday and dropped off the face of the earth, and I am saddened by that course of events.

But life--and law school--go on. We are one week into this semester; we have fifteen more weeks to go. Better yet, we only have 47 more weeks of law school. That has a nice ring to it. My grades were good last semester. My class ranking improved. I have taken some positive steps in my personal life and can only hope that it can sustain me during the next storm....which will probably blow in on Monday morning. Until then, thanks for being part of this journey with me.

Happy New Year!

950
dollars spent on Christmas presents, even though I am living off loans and thought I had "cut back" this year. Geesh!

364
days gone by in 2007; one more to go.

18
more months of law school.

13
relatives who said, "you look tired" during the Christmas visit.

12
more days until final grades are posted for fall semester.

11
hours of sleep per day/night is what I am averaging during the break. Heavenly!!

54
summer intern prospects

0
summer internship offers

412
times I have reminded myself to "have faith."

3
days it took me to finish the law review article.

3
days it took me to write an article for the SBA Magazine.

2.5
pajama days after returning home from visiting the family.

3
feet of mail is resting on the dining room table.

1
bottle of champagne ready for new year's eve.

1
more chance to wish you a happy new year

0
chance of me driving tonight.

One more before we are half way there

For several weeks now my poor, abused body has existed off of fast food, espresso, xanax, rolaids, pepto bismol and other imbibings. "Sleep and food are only for the weak," my friend Capt. Cave says, which is a famous quote from her alma mater (West Point). And, when I do try to sleep, it is restless, often interrupted by nausea, aching and cramping in my legs, back, and feet. So, I am wide awake at three a.m., chomping on an apple, sipping on some water, and hoping that my body doesn't go into shock from the ingestion of real nutrients.

In the darkness, the gracious silence of this time when most of the world sleeps, I have listened to some of my favorite tunes softly playing on my computer while I catch up on some e-mails (and blogging, of course) while waiting for the sleepiness to return; but, even though my body is still tired, my brain is awake, alert, and seems ready to "get it done." So, I guess I'll start the studying again....for one more exam. It's gonna be a killer, but then it's gonna be over, and this journey will be half way over. So, that's how it's going.

Tis the season!

It’s exam season, so this note will be brief.

God, in his gracious mercy, does not let us see the future, for if we could, many of us would run from it. I know that would be true of me. For, if in August of this year, I could have foreseen all of the work that awaited me, all the reading, and sleepless nights (not to mention a myriad of personal challenges), I would have surely decided to just stay in bed and “skip it.”

But August became September, and September rolled us into October. October brought a change to the scenery as it ushered in November. And there is no stopping November from introducing us to December. Hours turn to days, days to weeks, weeks to months, and months to years. Somewhere along the way, I blinked, and the semester is over.

I know, though, that I lived every painful day of it—and every painful page. This morning, out of curiosity, I reviewed the reading assignments for each class this semester. Let’s see, in criminal law we read 896 pages. Constitutional law required of us to read 796 pages; Evidence included 848 pages of reading; and the Tax professor went easy on us, only requiring 787 pages of reading. We also had to read about 300 pages in Law Skills class, but mostly we prepared projects for that class.

If you’re doing the math, this equals (approximately) 3627 pages of reading over 14 weeks or 259 pages per week, which equals out to 51 pages of reading per night.

Of course, the “reading” is only part of the nightly assignment. After the reading is done, then the writing begins. There are notes to draft and outlines to prepare. You may also need to read a commercial supplement for a class (or two) to help you understand the 51 pages of textbook reading that you just completed.

All of this reading typically boils down to about a 100-page outline (which is far too much to manage) and a lot of memorization and practice tests before the big exam. And, that will be all that consumes me for the next two weeks of exams. Tis the season.

It's a rollercoaster ride....

Life is like a rollercoaster. There are ups and downs. It comes at you fast and can seem out of control. You only hope that at the end of the ride, when you pull into the station, your final words aren’t, “That’s it?”

A lot of life happens in a short time. This is especially true in the day-to-day grind of law school. Whether at the top or the bottom of the law school rollercoaster, there is little time to do more than scream, hold on, and prepare for the next turn.

That’s what my life has felt like these past few weeks. On November 1 I received a letter from my firm of choice informing me that I was not their candidate of choice for the summer 2008 internship position. Boy, was I bummed about that. But, for better or worse, there wasn’t a whole lot of time to drown my sorrows.

And, at the snap of a finger, three more weeks have passed, and we are facing a long-overdue Thanksgiving break. Afterward, there will be one more week of classes, followed by final exams, and then this semester is over.

I will readily admit that I feel woefully unprepared for exams. I hope that if I devote myself to relentless studying during Thanksgiving break that I will not get thrown out of the rollercoaster car when we snap around the next curve . . . but I know it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Missing William

The call came at about 7:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning in October. I was awake, but not out of bed yet. I could tell from my mother’s tone that it wasn’t a social call, and then she was off the phone and coming down the hall to my room. The next 48 hours hold some of the most painful memories of my life; and twenty-five years later the wound is just as tender, the pain is just as real.

You see, my dad had lung cancer at this time, and his health was failing rapidly. So, early morning or late night calls definitely got my attention. I knew that it was just a matter of time before “the call” would come.

My best friend at the time was also my cousin, William. Even though he was only 10 months older than me, William seemed so much wiser and knowledgeable. He was good-looking and popular. I was thrilled to call his friends my own. Our mothers were first cousins, and our fathers were best friends. My father considered William to be the son he never had; and that was fine with me, because I loved him like a brother.

We went to the same elementary school. He was a grade ahead of me, so he would help me with my homework—when he felt like it. I thought that was cool. I felt so smart at school when William had helped me with the answers. I had no doubt that they were always right.

I remember the day we were riding home on the bus and we saw a dead dog on the side of the road near our stop. At first, I thought it was a mean dog from the neighborhood, so I didn’t care; but then I realized it was my dog, Tuffy. (I know Tuffy is a stupid name, but, heck, I was in third grade; what do you expect?) I waited beside the road (actually, a busy highway) so that no one else would run over Tuffy (again) while William went home and got a shovel, and we buried him. I cried like a girl. William tried not to cry, but I think he did.

To earn money one summer, we started a “bee killing business” where we would go to neighbor’s homes and dispose of bee, hornet, or wasp nests. Our fee was $1 per nest, and our only tools included a broom and some bug spray. That was a tough summer.

In 7th grade we had our first official school dance where everyone had to dress up. The guys had to wear suits and the girls had to wear dresses. Well, I was quite the tomboy and didn’t appreciate that rule. But I went to the dance anyway--at William's urging--(with some guy whose name escapes me) and I remember William convincing me to actually “dance” at the dance, in spite of the dress. Before the night was over, I was having such a good time that I had forgotten all about that stupid dress. William did that for me.

By high school William and I had started a neighborhood band. We even wrote some of our own songs. Oh, and they were awful! I remember one night we played a few of our songs for William’s dad, and he was quite diplomatic about our “enthusiasm.” William banged on the drums, and I plucked at a guitar, and we knew we were going to be famous. It wasn’t meant to be, though, and I haven’t picked up a guitar for about 25 years.

William and I involuntarily parted ways in high school. William’s parents divorced; and shortly thereafter, so did mine. We all moved to new homes and had to endure weekend visitations. By this time, we were both working and doing our best to get out of high school and out of our one-horse town. William stayed with his dad a lot—about 50 miles away—and I just didn’t get to see him as much. But, he was the master of surprises, and he would just show up sometimes on the doorstep. He didn’t own a car, so his only means of transportation was borrowing a car (which didn’t happen much), walking, or hitch-hiking.

The last time I saw him he had hitch-hiked from his dad’s to visit his mom, who was in the hospital. The doorbell rang, and there he was on my doorstep. He had come by the house to get a ride to the hospital, and it was just so good to see him. We talked about everything from work to music to life to girlfriends and boyfriends. Later, I dropped him off at the hospital and we promised to see each other again soon.

That was three months or so before the phone rang in October. The events of this Sunday morning would prohibit us from keeping our last promise to one another. William’s dad called to tell us that William had been killed in a car accident. His dad has just returned from the hospital where he had to identify his son’s body. Now, though, he needed someone to go tell William’s mother. I don’t remember getting dressed. I don’t remember speaking a word. But, within minutes, mom and I were on our way to Aunt Sallie’s house. When we got there, she was all alone, slumped down beside her bed, with the phone still in her hand, groaning and moaning like a wounded animal. (It was the most awful sound I have ever heard.) Someone from the sheriff’s office had accidentally called--in spite of William’s dad saying he would take care of it--and told her that her son was dead.

I was 19 years old that day—two days short of my 20th birthday—and I had never thought that someone my age could die. Old people die. Sick people die. My dad would die. But not me. Not William. Not at 19 or 20.

The next 48 hours were the most painful of my life. I had to tell a mother that her only son was dead. I had to call my dad and tell him that the boy he loved like a son was dead. And I had to bury my best friend on my 20th birthday.

You know sometimes I will see him in a crowd. Sometimes I have even caught myself looking for him. I have thought I caught a glimpse of him and almost called his name. Sometimes I will hear a song on one of the oldies stations that our “band” used to play and my world just stops spinning; and, for a moment, I am 15, strumming a six-string, and my best friend is singing and keeping the beat. But, the best of times, is when he hitchhikes into one of my dreams, and we just hang out like it's a Sunday afternoon and we've got nothing but time and a full tank of gas. Those moments are short-lived though; the dream ends or the present jerks me back into reality where 25 years later feels more like 25 minutes, and my heart is crushed all over again. If time heals all wounds, perhaps I need to be a bit more patient and give this one another 25 years. Thus far, it is just as tender and painful as that Sunday morning in 1982.

So, once again, it's October, and I am missing William. Wherever you are, my dear friend, I hope you are at peace. And if at all possible, I hope you know that you are still dearly loved and truly missed. I am certain that you miss us as well; and it's almost amusing to think of you doing your best to borrow a car or hitch a ride home. What a pleasant surprise it would be to find you on my doorstep tomorrow morning. Until then, I am missing you.

My Best Friend

William Howard Hansberry

December 5, 1961 - October 24, 1982

Warning: Very depressing! Read at your own risk!

Here’s the weekend so far….

I am slowly recuperating from a wicked head cold. It literally kept me in bed all of last weekend, and it has sapped me of all energy this week. When I wasn’t in class, I was at home sleeping—or trying to sleep between the coughing and sneezing.

The good news is the head cold is almost gone. The bad news is that it has now migrated to my chest. So, this weekend is round two of battling an annoying, pesky sickness. It’s just bad enough that it keeps me from reading, concentrating, or exercising. Oh, I haven’t been able to exercise in over a week, so my weight loss has come to a halt. And I feel like I am losing all of the muscle tone that I had worked so hard on. When I try to exercise, it only makes me cough so hard I think I’m going to break a rib. So when I’m lying in bed I can just feel myself turning into a tub of lard again.

Another repercussion from this sickness is that I have missed my first law review deadline. And, by “missed,” I mean that I had to request an extension of time. The editor was most gracious in allowing the extension, but just asking for it made me feel like a failure. I do not request extensions. It is not part of my composition. If I am given a realistic deadline, I will kill myself to meet that deadline, but I will not ask for an extension; well, until now. Better yet, I am 24 hours away from the extension’s deadline, and I haven’t written one word. And, just to ensure that I fail on multiple levels, I also have not prepared for Monday’s classes. On the bright side, though, my blog is up to date.

My one bright spot this weekend was supposed to be the college’s live theatre production, where my daughter is part of the production staff for the show. Every year I buy two season tickets so that my daughter and I can spend some time together and enjoy a show. But, when she’s working a show (like this one), I typically ask a friend to come along, which is what I did for Saturday night’s show. But, the friend I asked is a flake. I know that, and I knew that when I asked her. And, being the flake that she is, she canceled on me late Saturday afternoon “because [she] had wasted the whole day and needed to study.” First, I fail to see why that (i.e., she had wasted the whole day and needed to study) is my fault; but, the bottom line is, some lessons are better learned. And that is the lesson that I have to take away from this experience. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. While I always want to believe that people will do the right thing, I must accept that they will not; and the place where I have the most control is avoiding setting myself up for disappointment. My ego will recover and, hopefully, it has learned this lesson for the last time. That didn’t make Saturday night’s experience any less painful, though. I paid for two seats and only got the benefit of one. And I went to the show alone. Not fun.

Speaking of the bruised ego, I am still waiting to hear about the summer associate position of my dreams. As per the recruiter, decisions were to be made during the third week of October. So far I have not received a rejection letter, which is good; but I also have not received an offer (i.e., not good). This probably means that I am on “hold,” at best. So, here’s my status: I have placed all of my eggs in this one basket. I have not applied for any other summer associate positions. Why? Because I want this one. I am now trying to prepare myself for the fact that I may not receive the offer and what to do then. I am also reminding myself of my mortal frailties and limitations and the fact that I have ultimately entrusted my entire life and livelihood to the Heavenly Father, who is in complete control of the future. I have already told Him, as I’m telling you, that I will be disappointed—very disappointed—should I not receive an offer to the firm of my dreams, but I will try to temper that with the knowledge that He knows what is best and in His grand design there is something bigger and better for me. I will probably need to re-read these words out loud when the rejection letter arrives.

Finally, my weekend has been consumed with thoughts of my kids. I miss them dearly. And, for some reason, I missed them very much this weekend. I miss being a mom. I miss being a part of their everyday lives. I do not like getting the 30-second capsule summary of their lives. I miss staying up late with them and just talking. I miss the days when we would all crowd onto my bed and read our favorite books—or at least a chapter or two before we would start gabbing and talk into the night. I miss the banter, and the jokes, and the crazy things we did together that would make us laugh uncontrollably. I miss giving them random hugs. I miss watching them sleep. And I feel like I am missing so much of their lives.

So, that’s my weekend so far. It hasn’t been fun or productive. And, to be honest, I’ll be happy to see Monday morning and put these dreadful days behind me.

Counting the cost over a cup of jo

This weekend was spent in North Carolina visiting family. It was a planned trip that seemed like a good idea in the planning stages. While driving to Virginia Sunday afternoon, I had plenty of time to reconsider that assessment.

The family just does not understand what I mean when I say, “I am busy.” They have nothing to compare it to. I know their lives. I understand their definition of “busy,” and it pales in comparison. I could enlighten them. I could go into great detail about the hours I spend on a nightly basis preparing for one class; but, what’s the point? They are busy. I am busy. We all have busy lives. And I have never been one to glory in my status. For instance, if I had pneumonia, I would say, “I am sick.” For those who don’t know that I am in law school, I say, “I go to college.” I do not gain any self-worth or satisfaction by convincing all family and friends that my schedule is much more atrocious than theirs—to the tenth degree—even though it is. So, instead of reciting the painful details of the five hours per night spent preparing for the next day’s classes, I simply say, “I am busy.”

Perhaps the blame is mine. Perhaps the family cannot ascertain the stress of my schedule because I speak of it in such generic terms—and even plan weekend trips to visit. So the primary lesson learned from this weekend’s trip is that I must be a better communicator.

Chester (my cat) is curled up in my open suitcase. The half unpacked suitcase seems to be a metaphor for my life. I am half way through this curriculum; too late to quit, too soon to finish. So much is in limbo. Am I packing? Or unpacking? If I had the time, could I find the energy to finish doing either? This evening, that is doubtful. Instead, there’s a pot of coffee brewing. It will be my partner in the long night ahead. I will read, outline, study; and, when my mind wonders, I will reminisce about the weekend in North Carolina, calculate its cost, remember its lesson, and hope I can recover....or find someplace else for that suitcase to take me.

24

6:30 a.m. Sleep late; skip classes. Going to Richmond today to interview for a summer associate position. Walk the dog

7:00 a.m. To the gym for a workout

8:00 a.m. Review interview schedule and directions to office. Review firm website and bios of all six interviewers. Review potential interview questions from Monster.com. Draft questions to ask at interview so that I can appear “spontaneous” and “engaging” instead of “mortified” and “desperate.” Print an extra copy of the resume and school transcript to take with me.

9:45 a.m. No time to waste; get in the shower

10:45 a.m. Eat "lunch" before leaving so that I will not have to (1) stop to eat and (2) spill anything on myself.

10:55 a.m. Pop a Xanax. Begin travel to Richmond.

11:15 a.m. Attempt to listen to class lectures, but it is information overload; have to resort to mindless chatter on radio. Finally drive in silence and practice answering interview questions. Practice asking interview questions

12:50 p.m. Get ripped off by 75¢ toll that takes four quarters to open gate. Probably my fault.

1:05 p.m. Get ripped off again by 40¢ toll that takes five dimes to open gate. Now convinced it's a conspiracy.

1:15 p.m. Take the wrong exit.

1:20 p.m. Have to pay 25¢ at toll booth to get back on highway. Dammit!

1:30 p.m. Arrive in Richmond. Realize that height limit for parking garage is 6’ 0”, which is not conducive to my truck, which is 6’ 7”. (Note to self: Buy a sports car if I receive the summer associate position.)

1:35 p.m. Circle downtown Richmond searching for parking. Realize parking decks in Richmond must have been constructed before SUVs were stylish. Wonder why half of downtown Richmond is under construction. Whisper prayer of thanks that Xanax has kicked in, which is apparent from the fact that I am not plastered to the roof of the truck as a result of this serious parking dilemma.

1:45 p.m. Finally locate parking several blocks away. Deposit $1 in parking meter for two-hour parking. Begin long walk to office building.

1:55 p.m. Arrive at reception desk. Start smiling.

2:00 p.m. Interviews begin.

5:20 p.m. Interviews end.

5:25 p.m. Stop smiling.

5:30 p.m. Locate truck (no parking tickets; yea!). Head for home. Attempt to merge into downtown Richmond rush-hour traffic.

5:55 p.m. Pretend like I know where I'm going.

6:00 p.m. Wrong exit. Trapped on the parking lot called I-95 going in the wrong direction
Make good use of the downtime by consulting the atlas. (Daddy always said to keep an atlas in the car. Thanks, Dad!)

6:30 p.m. Point the truck in the direction of Lynchburg and set cruise control.

6:35 p.m. Occupy travel time with telephone calls to friends to review interview details.

7:00 p.m. Drive thru

9:00 p.m. Arrive in Lynchburg. Go to grocery store to buy items to make cupcakes.

9:30 p.m. Arrive at home

9:31 p.m. Peel off pantyhose.

9:45 p.m. More phone calls. Seriously trying to stay awake.

10:00 p.m. Go to bed. Lulled to sleep by the throbbing of my feet.

2:30 a.m. Get up. Bake cupcakes and make homemade icing for birthday party. (Seriously, what else would I be doing at 2:30 a.m.?)

3:30 a.m. Prep for classes.

6:00 a.m. Walk the dog

6:30 a.m. In the shower.

....and you will be called Note.

For those who missed the joyous occasion, I gave birth last week. As with most deliveries, there was a lot of panting, sweating, screaming, and pain. But, when I gazed at my precious baby, I could honestly say that every moment was worth it.

At 6:37 p.m. on Friday, September 14, I delivered a healthy Note idea to the Law Review Editorial Board, weighing in at 6 2/3 pages. The editorial board immediately examined the Note idea to ensure that it had a proper question for inquiry, initial annotated bibliography, and preliminary outline.

As a new parent, I was very relieved to learn that the Note idea was healthy from head to toe. Of course, this is only the beginning of Note idea's life, and I realize that Note idea may not survive the editorial board's further scrutiny and inquiry. For now, though, just the thought of Note idea resting peacefully in the law review suite--huddled up next to the other Note ideas--warms the cockles of my heart.

Shortly after Note idea's delivery, I was discharged from the library and headed straight for home. It wasn't difficult to determine why I was so tired--exhausted even. After taking a few Motrin and a Xanax, I was in bed by 7:30 p.m., knowing that I would need all of my strength in the coming days to help Note idea grow into a strong, healthy, strapping Note. And, I promise that, when Note idea has finally blossomed into Note, everyone of you will be there as well to share in that wonderful event.

The Hurricane Known as "Year Two"

Famous law school adage: Year one, they scare you to death; year two, they work you to death; and year three, they bore you to death. I am blessed to be beginning year two and am well on my way to being worked to death, for sure.

It's hard to believe that this is the beginning of the third week of the semester. I have been busy with school and related activities every day for the past three weeks, including Saturdays and Sundays. Simply put, there just are not enough hours in the day. Last night I slept four hours; that was a blessing!

I will admit that some of my work is self-inflicted. For instance, I volunteered to work for Westlaw as the student representative. It only requires five to ten hours per week, and that commitment seemed inconsequential when I made it. Learning point: No commitment of time is inconsequential in law school.

I also have continued working as a Research Assistant for the law school professor. The work and hours are not too demanding. Obviously the professor knows the demands of a 2L student; however, I still feel compelled to push myself and work the maximum number of hours per week on his various projects. I have resigned myself to the fact, though, that before I work myself into delirium, this will be the first responsibility that I relinquish should my grades (or health) start to suffer.

As I have mentioned in a prior post, I am also working as a law review candidate. Within a few short weeks I will submit my proposal for my fall writing commitment to law review. This will take up a great deal of time the remainder of this semester, but the goal is to complete a Note that is publishable (even if not published) and to be invited to join as a law review "member" during spring semester.

Today I will appear in court at 5:00 p.m. to be sworn in as a CASA Volunteer. Afterward, I will be assigned a case involving child abuse or neglect. It will be my responsibility to investigate the case and prepare a report for the court. I will also make court appearances on behalf of abused or neglected children.

Most recently I have added one more extra curricular activity that I am most proud of: I have been invited to mentor a group of law students. At LU SOL, mentors "volunteer" for the job, but they are only "invited" to mentor based upon their class ranking and maturity. We have a new Student Affairs Liaison who has some wonderful ideas for the mentoring program. Her basic idea is that no student "drifts" through law school. Instead, we grow together, we lean on each other, and we learn from each other. Our mentoring program kicks off later this week, so I'll have to keep you informed of how it progresses.

And, when time permits, I will blog about an upcoming job interview.

Yikes! My life, my schedule, and my commitments are so insane. If I were to get a satellite view of all of it, I fear it would look like a hurricane--definitely a Category 5 that we will name Year Two. Growing up near the coast of North Carolina, I have ridden out a few storms in my life. I think they will pale in comparison. This one is going to be ferocious! But I'm too stubborn to move out of its way, so bring on the storm.

It's four in the morning . . . and I'm not Gwen Stefani

In less than one week I will be back in class. It has been so much fun to chat about being a 2L. This weekend many of my classmates returned “home,” and we had a wonderful get-together Saturday night. It was so good to see those friendly faces. We spent several hours around a dinner table just reminiscing our last year and making predictions about the humiliations we will suffer this year as well.

Our class has so much personality. We have young and old. We have geniuses (literally) . . . and then the rest of us. We have the loud, the quiet, the flamboyant, and reserved. We know that the 3Ls envy our camaraderie. For whatever reason, their class just hasn’t meshed like ours. We are all one even though we are each unique.

And now that the new semester is only a few days away, my schedule is already starting to spin itself out of control. There are still books to buy. Last year’s files need to be put in storage to make way for the 2L files that will occupy their space. There are still books to sell from last year. My desk is a mess; I think it’s symbolic of all that’s going on in my head right now. I have a list of “things to do” that covers the front and back of a page. Not to mention that it’s recruiting season for 2Ls.

The recruiting season has my stomach in knots. I know that a lot is riding on the 2L recruiting season. In a perfect world, my 2L summer internship will be sealed by Christmas, it will be in the perfect geographic location, and it will be a perfect fit for my interests and talents (whatever they might be). But Christmas is 20 weeks away, and there is much work to do just to get some firm, government office, or nonprofit to take a look at me. This is the cause of so much stress, and there’s little I can do to relieve it at this time, other than target the right employers, pray and be patient.

Then there’s law review. As I continue to work on the first cite checking assignment, and as the deadline is looming for my work to be done, I can already see what a tremendous commitment this is going to take. I’m even finding it difficult to find time to read the Law Review Handbook, which is 137 pages. Not to mention the hundreds of pages that I still need to read for the CASA work that I have volunteered to perform. Hmmm….I wonder if I’ve over-committed….again? This reminds me of the classic definition of “insanity,” i.e., doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.

So, it’s four in the morning, one week before class, and I am already stressed. There are so many concerns. A lot is riding on this semester. I need to work diligently on lining up a summer internship. I must prove myself to the editors and senior staff of law review, which means cite checking articles of others, and then researching and writing an article of my own for publication. I must also maintain my GPA; I cannot slip in my class ranking if I intend to get a decent internship.

Oh, the irony: Classes haven’t even started, and I am already stressed. There are so many things that are out of my control. There are so many dark shadows and unknowns. There’s a definite need for a greater measure of faith and peace. There are no easy answers; there is no simple solution. Rather, it’s going to be a daily commitment to give everything I have, to hand over everything that I am. It is a 24/7 commitment of 16 weeks. And then, should I fail, it will not be from lack of effort.

Does this help me? Or ease the stress? Will it allow me to finally get some rest? Unfortunately--even at four in the morning--the answer is no. The entire conversation that I have posted here just continues to replay in my head. In less than one week I will be back in class . . . my schedule is spinning out of control . . . recruiting season has my stomach in knots . . . then there’s law review . . . and it’s four in the morning . . .

The Big News!

The big news of late is that I have been invited to join law review. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this legal jargon, first, you should consider that a blessing. But, just for the record, law review is a journal containing scholarly articles, essays, and other commentary on legal topics by professors, judges, law students, and practitioners.

Law reviews are usually published at law schools and edited by law students. The legal profession is the only one of its kind where the students actually publish the scholarly work. For instance, medical journals are published by health care professionals, not med school students. But, most of the time, the research conducted by these health care professionals could not have been possible without the assistance of an army of students; and, without the research, the article would never reach publication.

Most law schools publish their law review volumes several times a year. It is our chief editor’s goal to publish three times this year. This, and other fun details, were included in the 130+ page handbook that we received with our invitation to join law review. We are expected to review the handbook before we return to classes, and use it as a reference tool throughout the semester.

Not long after accepting the invitation to join law review, I received an e-mail referencing my first “cite-checking” assignment. Cite-checking is the grunt work of law review; and, thus, it is delegated to the new candidates (like me). I would not say this out loud, but I actually enjoy the cite checking process. For instance, the article that I am working on has been written by a professor. He has included 365 footnote references. Each of these references must be verified. The law review staff divides the work and assigns a portion of the footnotes to each staff member. It is my task to (1) find the source, (2) verify the source, and (3) make a copy of the source material before the article can be published.

Other than cite-checking articles, the other major project that I will be assigned this year will be the composition of an article for the law review, which is called a Note. A Note is a comprehensive analysis of a recent significant case, statute, or administrative regulation. Most Notes include a historical examination of the legal issues involved, an examination of the court’s holding and its legal significance, and the writer’s analysis or proposed solution. The Note must be a minimum of 20 pages and include at least 100 footnotes. It is estimated that a Note takes approximately 150 hours to write.

During my second year on law review (and I hope that there is a second year) I will be required to write a Comment. A Comment focuses on a specific legal issue and analyzes the pertinent cases, statutes, law review commentary, and other materials. Comments conclude with an alternative approach to the problem, such as a model statute. Traditionally, Comments are less descriptive and more analytical than Notes. Through a Comment, a writer seeks to resolve a conflict in the law, such as a circuit split. The Comment must be a minimum of 30 pages.

If it sounds like a lot of work, then I have done a good job of conveying that point. Law review is a tremendous amount of work. But, it makes you a better law student, and it makes you very marketable as a young attorney. For instance, some firms will only grant interviews to those who have served on law review. This is a tremendous responsibility, but I am very excited to have this opportunity. All too soon we will find out how many hours of sleep this "big news" is going to cost me.

1L Quotes: Part II

I love quotes. Perhaps if this law school thing doesn’t work out, I might publish a book of my favorite quotes with chapters like Spiritual, Famous, Personal, Funny, Friendship, Life, etc. But, until I find time to work on that project, I have included another installment of favorite quotes from the 1L year of law school. I hope that they are as humorous to you as they are to me.

I have much more to report on the blog but just don’t have the time to do it right now; but, before classes begin in August, I promise a complete update. Until then, enjoy a glimpse of the ironic statements that get glued inside my head:

"Toner. What is toner? And how might one procure it?" 1L K. Taylor. Such a sweet young girl who is a great friend, BUT she readily admits that she hasn’t had too many responsibilities in her short, privileged life.

Prof T: We don’t want you becoming experts in the law.
My response: Did I make a wrong turn; this is law school, right?

“I don’t mention Florida a lot, but I will in this setting” – Famous quote from very intelligent professor who once practiced in Florida . . . and subconsciously mentions Florida five to seven times per class period.

“We would hire her, but we'd have to put a sack over her head.” – Prof B referring to model who sued when facial surgery severed nerves in her face. He said this with a straight face, and I blew Coke threw my nose.

“Normally I don’t like to say ‘Okay – here’s what you ought to believe.’ But today, I have an agenda” – From this professor, this is the understatement of the year. He always has an agenda which is as apparent as an elephant in the room; and his “agenda” is always the same, i.e., to tell us what we ought to believe.

“This case was about one word. ‘Slut.’ … Now let’s go through the elements.” Prof B. I really have to quit drinking Coke in class; it burns after it’s blown through the nose more than once a day.

The student "most likely to succeed" in any law school is the brightest asshole. --Walt Bachman, J.D., Author of What Lawyers Are Afraid to Say About the Legal Profession. Good read sent to me this year by one of my favorite lawyers (and people).

She is gone, again.

I don't need to recount for you how gut-wrenching it was to take my daughter to college, drop her off, and leave. I cried the entire three-hour trip home. Little did we know--in August '05--that I would be enrolling at the same college in one year in order to attend law school. But, even though we were attending the same school, we chose not to live together. She had her life on campus in the residence hall; I secured a nice apartment close to campus, and we were both happy with that arrangement until....the entire story is just too long and boring to tell, but the synopsis is this: life became so unbearable in the dorm during the fall semester of her sophomore year that she was ready to move out and move anywhere. The logical solution was that she should move into my apartment until she had time to think about other options. So, between final exams and Christmas break, my daughter joined me, the dog, and the cat in our cozy little home.

Over time we all grew accustomed to living with one another again. We developed our work and school routines. We collaborated on shopping lists and cooking meals. We would occasionally indulge in a movie and popcorn. We would paint each other's toe nails. We'd freely advise one another about whether "those shoes really match that outfit." And we'd gripe about who took out the trash last and why "I" always have to take out the trash. We'd grumble and nag when the house got too messy, and we'd prefer deep conversation to deep cleaning.

Life wasn't perfect, but it was nice. It was nice to come home to another human being. It was nice to know that someone else could pick up my slack. It was nice to have someone to depend on, and it was nice to feel needed by someone as well.

Tonight, in the silence of this apartment, I'm pondering how nice it really was. Last weekend I helped my daughter move into her new place. She and some friends are renting a townhome. It is close by; just a few miles up the road. Nevertheless, she is gone, again. She came back just long enough for me to grow accustomed to her being her, and then she is gone again.

I know that it is truly best for her to be living with girls her own age and with girls who share her interest. And I will enjoy having a quiet house to come home to when the fall semester gets underway. But, today, I'm just trying to get accustomed to the quiet house and the fact that she is gone, again.