I discovered a new artist (by accident) yesterday. Her voice was so captivating that I had to stop and listen....so this a.m. I let one of my exam distractions be a quick Google search for her website....and here's a copy of her journal entry that I "borrowed" to share with you. I would invite you, too, to check out Mica Roberts....
"Perhaps strength doesn’t reside in having never been broken…but in the courage required to grow strong in the broken places."
In April of 2007, I began to share the message that my father taught me. The words "You Only Fail When You Quit" have become the thread of not only my career but, my life.
You see, I have many broken places within me, places invisible to the eye, places that can be covered with a smile, a laugh or a quick witted response that deflects a truth….
After a very long day of shooting the video for "Things a Mama Don’t Know", I went back to my hotel and didn’t bother to take off my make-up. This wouldn’t normally cause any heads to turn in LA. Of course, normally my make-up wouldn’t consist of a rather large black eye. I was so tired that I didn’t even think about it. I was so emotionally drained from the shoot that I failed to notice that the man whom I rode in the elevator with was staring at me, at my rather large black eye. Once I realized that he was looking at my eye, I said "Oh, I was in a video today and I forgot to take my make-up…" My voice faded as I realized that he wasn’t listening.
He was just staring at my eye.
I got off of the elevator, walked into my room, entered the bathroom and gazed at my eye.
"…like hiding the bruises on my face, just for everyone sake. Mom he’s a real go getter, love hasn’t ever felt better, you won’t believe all the things he’s promisin’ me. California that’s where we’re goin’, he swears he can make a fortune. I know you don’t think I should go...there’s some things a mama don’t know."
There are several things that people don’t know; that those around us, those who love us will never know…there are unseen bruises, battered souls, hidden scars and shattered dreams.
Some of the broken places within me have healed…and they are stronger than they would have been had they not broke. They healed because the words of my dad circled in my head, "You Only Fail When You Quit."
Some places have not healed, but I won’t stop trying to breathe hope into those places.
I don’t know where you need healing, but you do. I don’t know if someone around you needs compassion, and you may not either….
So, for this month instead of staring at someone’s bruises, ask if you can help. And know this, that being broken doesn’t mean you are weak, it means that you have the ability to grow and become stronger than you ever imagined you could be…
Thank you for continuing with me on this journey,
M
Sunday, April 27, 2008
In the midst of exams....grace, mercy, peace
Wow! Had an awesome day at church today. Wish I had time to tell you just how much the music and the message spoke to my heart. I'm not sure if the other 2000 people needed to be there, but I know that I did, and it seemed as if the entire service was a letter of love and encouragement to me. I eventually just stopped wiping the tears away and just let them drench my face, neck, and shirt.
Lyrics to From the Inside Out
A thousand times I've failed
Still your mercy remains
And should I stumble again
Still I'm caught in your grace
Your will above all else, my purpose remains
The art of losing myself in bringing you praise
Everlasting, Your light will shine when all else fades
Never ending, Your glory goes beyond all fame
In my heart, in my soul, Lord I give you control
Consume me from the inside out Lord
Let justice and praise become my embrace
To love You from the inside out
Everlasting, Your light will shine when all else fades
Never ending, Your glory goes beyond all fame
And the cry of my heart is to bring You praise
From the inside out Lord, my soul cries out
Lyrics to From the Inside Out
A thousand times I've failed
Still your mercy remains
And should I stumble again
Still I'm caught in your grace
Your will above all else, my purpose remains
The art of losing myself in bringing you praise
Everlasting, Your light will shine when all else fades
Never ending, Your glory goes beyond all fame
In my heart, in my soul, Lord I give you control
Consume me from the inside out Lord
Let justice and praise become my embrace
To love You from the inside out
Everlasting, Your light will shine when all else fades
Never ending, Your glory goes beyond all fame
And the cry of my heart is to bring You praise
From the inside out Lord, my soul cries out
Friday, April 25, 2008
Exam mode
This week has been especially busy. Lots of projects due. The final--and most significant one--was due this morning (all the docs to create an LLC). I finalized that package at about 4:00 a.m. and then debated whether I should grab a quick nap or just get ready for school. After getting only about 10 hours of sleep this entire week, I opted for the nap (and think that was the best decision). It's been a long day; but, adrenaline and caffeine have been my friends. The last classes are complete, review sessions are over, and it's time to get into exam mode.
Try as I might to avoid it, the time has come to prepare for another round of exams. Less than an hour ago I finished my last class as a 2L. Four exams from now I hope to look forward to my last year as a law student. How sweet it will be to be a 3L. But, first, exams--which are met with excitement clouded by fear and trepidation. For now, though, i.e., for the next 14 days, I am in the zone. My days will start as usual (around 5:00 a.m.) and the entire day will be consumed with study, sample tests, sample answers, note cards, memorization, application, analysis, sprinkled with lots of junk food and sleep, when necessary.
One thing that I am going to do differently during exams this time is "reward" myself after every exam. One reward will be a pedicure, then a facial, a full-body massage, and, after the final exam, a steak dinner. Admittedly, I may be too exhausted to eat the darn thing, but I'm still going ("To go, please."). And, that's what I must do now....go. No tv, no blogging, no e-mails, no distractions....time to get in the zone.
Try as I might to avoid it, the time has come to prepare for another round of exams. Less than an hour ago I finished my last class as a 2L. Four exams from now I hope to look forward to my last year as a law student. How sweet it will be to be a 3L. But, first, exams--which are met with excitement clouded by fear and trepidation. For now, though, i.e., for the next 14 days, I am in the zone. My days will start as usual (around 5:00 a.m.) and the entire day will be consumed with study, sample tests, sample answers, note cards, memorization, application, analysis, sprinkled with lots of junk food and sleep, when necessary.
One thing that I am going to do differently during exams this time is "reward" myself after every exam. One reward will be a pedicure, then a facial, a full-body massage, and, after the final exam, a steak dinner. Admittedly, I may be too exhausted to eat the darn thing, but I'm still going ("To go, please."). And, that's what I must do now....go. No tv, no blogging, no e-mails, no distractions....time to get in the zone.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Unexcused Absence
This morning the weight of so many deadlines is crushing me. I wonder to myself, "where have I been? Did I check out for a while?" I don't think so. My feet have hit the ground around 5:00 a.m. on a daily basis; yet, somehow, it hasn't been enough. Last week, I even gassed up on caffeine and worked 48 hours straight, but I still can't see any positive result from that effort.
My inbox has over 100 unanswered messages. I have a major project due in two weeks in Business Associations that I haven't even started--and I estimate "getting started" (finding a suitable form, research, writing a draft) should take at least two weeks. But, who can think of that, because exams start in two weeks. So it's time to shape up the outlines and start digesting all of this information that I have just been collecting the entire semester. I have devoted Saturdays of late to shaping up my outlines; still they seem to be disjointed and out of order.
This week I have been consumed with law review and the new responsibilities that I have there on the editorial board. The new board has had several meetings and an open house for the 1Ls. I also had to put together a workshop for the 1L write-on competition. I know that this is just the "learning curve" but it is consuming time that I don't have to give. Yesterday an editing project was dumped in my lap that must be completed by next Friday; and, it's not just cite checking, but "finding a source to support" some lazy author's assertions. I am still struggling with whether I am even going to justify such a ridiculous project. It seems to me it would be easier to return the article to the author with a "thanks, but no thanks" letter and let the chips fall where they may. But I am trying not to let exhaustion and stress cloud my decision-making process.
With all that in mind, please accept my apologies for the recent absences.
My inbox has over 100 unanswered messages. I have a major project due in two weeks in Business Associations that I haven't even started--and I estimate "getting started" (finding a suitable form, research, writing a draft) should take at least two weeks. But, who can think of that, because exams start in two weeks. So it's time to shape up the outlines and start digesting all of this information that I have just been collecting the entire semester. I have devoted Saturdays of late to shaping up my outlines; still they seem to be disjointed and out of order.
This week I have been consumed with law review and the new responsibilities that I have there on the editorial board. The new board has had several meetings and an open house for the 1Ls. I also had to put together a workshop for the 1L write-on competition. I know that this is just the "learning curve" but it is consuming time that I don't have to give. Yesterday an editing project was dumped in my lap that must be completed by next Friday; and, it's not just cite checking, but "finding a source to support" some lazy author's assertions. I am still struggling with whether I am even going to justify such a ridiculous project. It seems to me it would be easier to return the article to the author with a "thanks, but no thanks" letter and let the chips fall where they may. But I am trying not to let exhaustion and stress cloud my decision-making process.
With all that in mind, please accept my apologies for the recent absences.
Friday, March 28, 2008
The warm, healing balm
My bag included a study guide, my ipod, pens, markers, and a blanket. All week the weather has been beautiful. The sun has invaded every window of the law school, reminding us of what we're missing. But, the days were long. Classes in the morning, meetings in the afternoon, and start studying around sundown.
Today was different, though. Through a series of coincidences and others' scheduling conflicts, my afternoon was free. On the drive home, I developed the plan for the rest of the day; and, before long, I had changed clothes and packed my bag.
My favorite place on campus to soak up the sun is the baseball field. Usually I can either sit in the stands or pick a place on the hillside. Today was, by far, the warmest day we have had this year and even the wind was kind. After living here for two years, I have learned to pay attention to the forecasted temperature and the wind forecast because even though the temperature may be 70 degrees, it's going to feel like 50 if we have a 20 mph north wind whipping over the hilltops. But, today, sitting on the side of the hill overlooking the baseball field, the wind was almost calm and had a kind warmth to it.
I listened to lectures and scribbled notes in my study guide. And whenever I would start to panic about all there is to do in these last four weeks of class, I would pause, close my eyes, and turn my face up toward the sun until those panicked thoughts were gone. Sometimes I would just whisper, "God, I'm going to need your help in this, ok. In my weakness, infirmity, sickness, and imperfection, you are strong...please help me let you be strong."
These are the days when I wish time would stand still. I can appreciate spring and the renewing of the earth. Soaking in the sun today, letting it bathe my face in warmth, it seemed like I was having my own "spring" experience after a long, cold and hard winter. And how good it is to be alive and feel like living.
Today was different, though. Through a series of coincidences and others' scheduling conflicts, my afternoon was free. On the drive home, I developed the plan for the rest of the day; and, before long, I had changed clothes and packed my bag.
My favorite place on campus to soak up the sun is the baseball field. Usually I can either sit in the stands or pick a place on the hillside. Today was, by far, the warmest day we have had this year and even the wind was kind. After living here for two years, I have learned to pay attention to the forecasted temperature and the wind forecast because even though the temperature may be 70 degrees, it's going to feel like 50 if we have a 20 mph north wind whipping over the hilltops. But, today, sitting on the side of the hill overlooking the baseball field, the wind was almost calm and had a kind warmth to it.
I listened to lectures and scribbled notes in my study guide. And whenever I would start to panic about all there is to do in these last four weeks of class, I would pause, close my eyes, and turn my face up toward the sun until those panicked thoughts were gone. Sometimes I would just whisper, "God, I'm going to need your help in this, ok. In my weakness, infirmity, sickness, and imperfection, you are strong...please help me let you be strong."
These are the days when I wish time would stand still. I can appreciate spring and the renewing of the earth. Soaking in the sun today, letting it bathe my face in warmth, it seemed like I was having my own "spring" experience after a long, cold and hard winter. And how good it is to be alive and feel like living.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
What is the plan?
This is the week of Spring Break--a time to catch up on your studies and your sleep. But, I haven't slept well this week, especially last night. There is just so much "stuff" swirling around in my head. It wakes me up at 2:30 and 4:15 and 5:40. No matter how tired or drugged I am, I just cannot sleep. So many thoughts are bombarding me that there is no way I can sink into REM. There are things I must do today, stuff that must be done before Monday, concerns about the summer; and, of course--with graduation a mere 18 months away--now it's time to officially start contemplating a serious job search.
Most of my adult life I have been a "planner." I plan my work. I plan my life. I plan vacations--at least one year in advance. I organize, research, investigate, analyze, and then develop a plan. When I taught an Intro class at JCC, my mantra for those students was "Plan the work and work the plan." One of their assignments was to develop a 10-year career plan. Where would they like to be in ten years? What were their goals? And how could we develop incremental steps to get there?
I also had a 10-year career plan for myself that I often tweaked during Christmas vacation. I found that to be the perfect time to reflect on the prior year and to revisit/revise the 10-year plan. I vividly remember about five years ago when I added "attend law school" to the 10-year plan. Wow! What a dream that was. And, now it's a reality.
My current 10-year plan has some holes, though. I just do not know where I am going to go from here. There are so many areas of law that interest me, I fear choosing the wrong one. For a "planner," not having a plan is a terrible thing that feels much like skydiving without a parachute.
I also struggle internally with perception and self-worth issues. It doesn't take much for me to convince myself that I have taken someone else's seat on this ride--someone smarter and more deserving than me. Why do I feel like I belong here? How can I believe that this part of the plan will ever be more than a lofty goal penned by a dreamer? I have stepped off the edge of the cliff, am dangling in mid air, and will soon crash to the ground, as predicted by many. And, just in case there is a snowflake's chance in hell that that doesn't happen, there are at least ten different ways that I can personally screw it up. I suppose I need to revise the 10-year plan with a more realistic goal that reads "self-destruct."
It pains me to say that I don't know what the plan is. I can see the question forming in people's mind ("So, what are you going to do after law school?"), and I just want to run away before they utter the first syllable. It feels so lame saying, "I don't know," or my new favorite, "I am working out the details." If God would only enlighten me to the plan, I could jot it down for ready reference, condense it to a one-sentence reply, and focus my attention on more pressing matters. So far, He has been reluctant to do so, in spite of my requests.
I can only hope that some of these demons that I battle on a daily basis are part of the plan. If I believed otherwise, i.e., that this torture was just for sport, then I truly would crawl under a bridge and die. And death really isn't the enemy anymore; death can be a friend. Death silences the demons and disappointments.
But I have to believe that there is a plan--whether I am privy to it or not--and that each battle is preparing me so that I can help others at some point and place in the future. How do I put that on the 10-year plan? Perhaps it just needs to say "Trust God," which sounds glib and trite, but what more can I do? For now, that's the plan.
So, hold me Jesus, 'cause I'm shaking like a leaf.
You have been King of my glory, won't you be my Prince of Peace
Most of my adult life I have been a "planner." I plan my work. I plan my life. I plan vacations--at least one year in advance. I organize, research, investigate, analyze, and then develop a plan. When I taught an Intro class at JCC, my mantra for those students was "Plan the work and work the plan." One of their assignments was to develop a 10-year career plan. Where would they like to be in ten years? What were their goals? And how could we develop incremental steps to get there?
I also had a 10-year career plan for myself that I often tweaked during Christmas vacation. I found that to be the perfect time to reflect on the prior year and to revisit/revise the 10-year plan. I vividly remember about five years ago when I added "attend law school" to the 10-year plan. Wow! What a dream that was. And, now it's a reality.
My current 10-year plan has some holes, though. I just do not know where I am going to go from here. There are so many areas of law that interest me, I fear choosing the wrong one. For a "planner," not having a plan is a terrible thing that feels much like skydiving without a parachute.
I also struggle internally with perception and self-worth issues. It doesn't take much for me to convince myself that I have taken someone else's seat on this ride--someone smarter and more deserving than me. Why do I feel like I belong here? How can I believe that this part of the plan will ever be more than a lofty goal penned by a dreamer? I have stepped off the edge of the cliff, am dangling in mid air, and will soon crash to the ground, as predicted by many. And, just in case there is a snowflake's chance in hell that that doesn't happen, there are at least ten different ways that I can personally screw it up. I suppose I need to revise the 10-year plan with a more realistic goal that reads "self-destruct."
It pains me to say that I don't know what the plan is. I can see the question forming in people's mind ("So, what are you going to do after law school?"), and I just want to run away before they utter the first syllable. It feels so lame saying, "I don't know," or my new favorite, "I am working out the details." If God would only enlighten me to the plan, I could jot it down for ready reference, condense it to a one-sentence reply, and focus my attention on more pressing matters. So far, He has been reluctant to do so, in spite of my requests.
I can only hope that some of these demons that I battle on a daily basis are part of the plan. If I believed otherwise, i.e., that this torture was just for sport, then I truly would crawl under a bridge and die. And death really isn't the enemy anymore; death can be a friend. Death silences the demons and disappointments.
But I have to believe that there is a plan--whether I am privy to it or not--and that each battle is preparing me so that I can help others at some point and place in the future. How do I put that on the 10-year plan? Perhaps it just needs to say "Trust God," which sounds glib and trite, but what more can I do? For now, that's the plan.
So, hold me Jesus, 'cause I'm shaking like a leaf.
You have been King of my glory, won't you be my Prince of Peace
Friday, February 29, 2008
Madam Editor
So pysched to report that I have been chosen as the Managing Editor of Student Works for law review!!! In our application package we had to submit our top three choices, and this position was my number one choice.
As Managing Editor of Student Works I will be responsible for training all law review members in the publications process. I will assist the members in writing their notes (2Ls) and comments (3Ls). I will be primarily responsible for guidance and training to the 2L candidates this summer/fall. During the summer, I will be responsible for running the law review's write-on competition. The best news is that most of my responsibilities will essentially be complete by the end of fall semester, and I wll be able to devote spring semester to studying for the bar while still maintaining my position on the editorial board. In addition, I get my own office in the law review suite where I can work and study, which will be "sweet."
I believe that I could have been a candidate for the editor in chief position; but after a tremendous amount of thought, prayer, and consideration, I decided to let someone else take that position/headache. The only thing I admire about that position is the title; working insane hours for the next 52 weeks is not worth having a grand or glorious title. And, as per the candidates' applications, a lot more members were running for my position than for editor in chief. So, I'm thrilled. Woo Hoo!
As Managing Editor of Student Works I will be responsible for training all law review members in the publications process. I will assist the members in writing their notes (2Ls) and comments (3Ls). I will be primarily responsible for guidance and training to the 2L candidates this summer/fall. During the summer, I will be responsible for running the law review's write-on competition. The best news is that most of my responsibilities will essentially be complete by the end of fall semester, and I wll be able to devote spring semester to studying for the bar while still maintaining my position on the editorial board. In addition, I get my own office in the law review suite where I can work and study, which will be "sweet."
I believe that I could have been a candidate for the editor in chief position; but after a tremendous amount of thought, prayer, and consideration, I decided to let someone else take that position/headache. The only thing I admire about that position is the title; working insane hours for the next 52 weeks is not worth having a grand or glorious title. And, as per the candidates' applications, a lot more members were running for my position than for editor in chief. So, I'm thrilled. Woo Hoo!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
The Gift of Fear
A few weeks ago I was home for a dinner break and found myself watching Oprah. Her guest was Gavin de Becker, author of the book, The Gift of Fear. By the end of the show, I had already ordered the audio book for me and the print copy for my daughter. The next Sunday my daughter had lunch with me and I told her about the show and the book. It's basically about recognizing danger signs, listening to your body, and realizing when someone is dangerous before becoming their next victim. It is NOT about living in fear; it is about listening to the gift called fear that is built into each of us (human and animal) that is there to save us from danger.
The book finally arrived, and when my daughter stopped by tonight to pick up her copy, she told me this story. Last night, she and a friend went to the movies. She said they were the first ones in the theatre and, by the time the movie started, they were still the only two there. About five minutes into the movie she said she started feeling "weird." She couldn't keep her eyes off the door and her heart was racing (for no apparent reason). She tried to discount the feelings, but they just wouldn't go away. It was then that she thought of our conversation from the prior Sunday about the book that had made such an impression on me. After another moment, she decided to lean over to her friend, Jennifer, and say, "I'm feeling weird. Would you mind praying with me?" When she leaned over to her friend, she said, "I'm feeling weird." And Jenn immediately said, "Me too. There's something wrong here." My daughter immediately said, "I don't care about the $8.50 (for the ticket)....let's go." And they did. By the time that they got back to the apartment and talked it out, they realized that they both--independently--were feeling the same thing.
What could have happened? I don't know, and am glad that we didn't find out. I'll just accept it for what it is--a gift.
I am so happy that I saw that show. I am happy that I ordered the book and even happier that I told my daughter all about it before she could even pick up her copy! I highly recommend this book, especially for young women. Get the audiobook, get the print copy; go to a used bookstore or the library, but get the book--and never second guess that instinct--that inner voice--again. Here is a URL if you want to get official info: http://www.enotalone.com/article/4555.html
The book finally arrived, and when my daughter stopped by tonight to pick up her copy, she told me this story. Last night, she and a friend went to the movies. She said they were the first ones in the theatre and, by the time the movie started, they were still the only two there. About five minutes into the movie she said she started feeling "weird." She couldn't keep her eyes off the door and her heart was racing (for no apparent reason). She tried to discount the feelings, but they just wouldn't go away. It was then that she thought of our conversation from the prior Sunday about the book that had made such an impression on me. After another moment, she decided to lean over to her friend, Jennifer, and say, "I'm feeling weird. Would you mind praying with me?" When she leaned over to her friend, she said, "I'm feeling weird." And Jenn immediately said, "Me too. There's something wrong here." My daughter immediately said, "I don't care about the $8.50 (for the ticket)....let's go." And they did. By the time that they got back to the apartment and talked it out, they realized that they both--independently--were feeling the same thing.
What could have happened? I don't know, and am glad that we didn't find out. I'll just accept it for what it is--a gift.
I am so happy that I saw that show. I am happy that I ordered the book and even happier that I told my daughter all about it before she could even pick up her copy! I highly recommend this book, especially for young women. Get the audiobook, get the print copy; go to a used bookstore or the library, but get the book--and never second guess that instinct--that inner voice--again. Here is a URL if you want to get official info: http://www.enotalone.com/article/4555.html
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, February 09, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, February 01, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, December 31, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
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
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
Sunday, October 21, 2007
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.
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.
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