See? SEE?!?!

I was the person called on in Property the day after that huge law school party they had Thursday night. I stayed in and did my reading. I will be thankful forever. The whole thing went just fine- I was okay, not brilliant, not stupid. Everyone said later that I didn't seem nervous at all- but they couldn't see my hands shaking. I was petrified. And then it was over, and so was my second week of law school.

Last night Patrick and I went out for drinks with a couple of my friends from law school and some of their significant others. I had a good time, drank one too many Long Island Iced Teas, (for a total of three, I'm such a light weight) and all in all felt redeemed for having to miss out on all the fun during the week. I think I'm finding my niche at school- I'm at least finding the three or four people that I'm comfortable around.

I started school and now I have no life

So, it turns out that the reason everyone is so agog that I go to Harvard Law is that they didn't know I truly desired to have any semblance of a normal life sucked out of me by the end of the first week. It's a strange desire. I think most people truly only want to do an honest day's work for an honest day's pay and have enough to be comfortable and happy but not so much as to fear that people are only being nice to them because they want to hold their family members for ransom later. But not me. Oh no- I want to read very complex and technical (and often contradicting) material for 5 or 6 hours a day, be continually tripped up by trick questions and ridiculous hypotheticals in class, and spend any remaining hours discussing policy with similarly situated people until my brain hurts- all in preparation of one 6-8 hour final that determines my grade for the semester. It's tough to keep up here. I guess that's the point.

Still, I feel as though I am doing well. By the end of the day I understand what is going on (except in Civil Procedure, but no one knows what is going on in there), and I know how to apply what I know to new situations. Sometimes the work is very interesting. Sometimes it is very boring, and a lot of the time it is very long, but this is what I wanted to do and for the most part I am happy. Except...

Harvard has this annoying habit of constantly advertising a million fun things to do every night of the work week, though they must know there is no way we can go to their functions and still get our reading done. They have been in business for hundreds of years. They must know they are asking too much for us to have outside lives, and I sometimes think they are teasing us. "Harvard Law presents Free Food and Drinks and Happiness! It will be really fun! You should come out! Yay Law School!" My classmates test each other out to see if anyone is going. One or two people are. The rest of us are jealous and suspicious. "Have you finished your reading for Property?" we ask incredulously. They haven't. They are going anyway. We chalk it up to personal choice, but we know we are going home to hover our our texts with the mighty highlighter while they go out and party. And we are bitter. But the simple fact of the matter is that someone is going to be called on tomorrow, and no one wants to be the person who didn't do their reading and is tortured in front of the class.

It is a profound form of pain you just don't understand until you experience it firsthand.

The RMV

So Patto and I went to get our new driver's licenses this week, and the RMV (thats 'registry of motor vehicles' for those of you who grew up in DMV-land like I did) was surprisingly efficient. Amazingly surprisingly efficient. In fact, we registered the car, got our DLs, and registered to vote in under 30 min. You couldn't get a DMV officer to look at you in less than 30 min in TN.

When you register to vote in good ole MA, they ask you what party with whom you wish to be affiliated, if any. As I didn't want to incur prejudice, I marked "no affiliation at this time." When the counter officer finished all of my paperwork, he handed me back my temporary voting card (in case I needed to run out and vote before they could mail me the hard copy) and it was marked "Democratic Party."
"Wait a minute," says I, "I marked 'no affiliation,' not 'Democratic Party."
"Oops," replies stunningly-efficient though now-in-cahoots-with-the-Dems counter guy, "let me get that fixed."
"Yeah," I said, handing back my temporary card, "My pap-paw warned me about you guys: 'Welcome to Massachusetts, you're a Democrat now'."

All in all, a fine day to become actual residents of a new state. It is starting to sink in that this isn't some vacation- what with the MA plates on the car and me with my snazzy subway pass. By the time Patrick has been at work for a week I think he'll feel like he's been here forever. Routine has a comforting way of folding you in, ya know?

Blending lives

I always heard that when two people who have lived independenly move in together, they have an excess of towels and silverware and 9 x 13 cassarole dishes. Not so with Patrick and I. We have an excess of books. Books upon books upon books. 7 boxes of books. A couple of exerpts from finally getting around to unpacking them all:

Him: Where do you want to put philosophers?
Me: Ancient or modern?
Him: 17th centrury French.
Me: Hmmm... Just put him with my French philosophers for now.

Me: Do you have The Good Citizen? Wait, don't answer that. Of course you do. Yours or mine?
Him: What edition is yours?
Me: Third, revised with intro by Eduardo Medieta.
Him: Ha, Mine is 250th anniversary edition with content notes by Leienne.
Me: Fine, we'll keep your Citizen, but I want a reverse ruling on my Plato- I've marked it up the way I like it and I dont want to start over with another.
Him: Fine. Where do you want to put biographies?

You get the idea. I knew that Patrick and I were dorks, albeit high-functioning ones, but I didn't think that would be how we spent a Saturday morning. We only had three cups between the two of us, but have filled three bookshelves. And that was after we weeded out copies we were going to take to the book exchange. As soon as we find one, that is.

Holy Smoley I live in Boston

I moved to Boston last week and into a great little apt. It's still sinking in that this my new home, and not some vacation. I guess it won't really hit me until I start paying the bills for this place. I have already noticed that a BigMac meal is almost $5 around here. Crazy northerners. Anyway, now the dear kitty Tobey (who, by the way, has not had an accident since I moved to Boston), the ever-faithful Patrick and I live in MA. We are still getting used to where we paahk, and the best way to get to Haahvaahd, but so far we are enjoying the adventure.

Today, Patrick and I decided to set up new checking and savings accounts since AmSouth doesn't really exist above VA. We planned to get our accounts and then go to the DMV for new licenses. Well, silly me thought that the bank would be a breeze and then we would really get to test our patience at the DMV. That is, after all, how God ordained it. But, heathen town that this is, we spent 2 hours at the bank. Let me clairly. The bank. And the real kicker was, we were the only ones there. As in first in line. As in, the first available person could help us. But for 30 min, there was no such available person. Just a couple of tellers gossiping about another teller and the lobby greeter and us. Finally, the lobby greeter directs us to a desk and begins the process of opening our new accounts. This woman had such a thick Asian accent that we had to ask her to repeat herself two or three times, and in a couple of instances, write down what she was saying. Another fun aspect was that she couldn't type. She just finger-pecked the keys, and said every letter out loud as she went. As in, "ok, you want a c-h-e-c-k-i-n-g account. You said regular, right? R-e-g-u-l-a-r. " Now, I have a 26 letter name. Do you know how long it takes to finger peck 26 letters out loud? And I couldn't even be sure those were the correct letters she was saying. You know its bad when you have trouble identifying your own name. After 2 hours, I was ready to hang myself. Patrick and I agreed to save the DMV for tomorrow and go home to regroup.

More adventure to follow tomorrow when I obtain my very first non-TN license. I have to provide them with everything but a letter of recommendation to get it. Seriously. MA requires something like 6 documents that you have to bring. I think there's a lie-detector test and everything. But of course, John Kerry got his license, so how accurate can the thing be?

Seems no one in this blue state ever finds that funny.

Time and a Half

Saturday morning, and I'm about to head back to the office to finish up some work. I just had a vision of my future, I think. I don't mind so much, because Patrick is in NC for his buddy's wedding, and my saturday morning ritual usually involves getting breakfast and watching cartoons with him. The other reason I don't mind is that it's pure overtime. I may not make too much regularly, but I can really kill it on time and a half.

Tobey's urine is fine, which means she has started to pee on the bed for attention- or because she's just a bad kitty. I prefer to think the former, as she really is quite lovable- though admittedly a bit spastic. The vet recommends we schedule a behavior consult as soon as possible, but the vet only does those in the afternoon when I am at work, or saturdays. She couldn't this saturday (another reason I don't mind popping into work for a few hours), and I am going to Smyrna for Mel's college graduation next saturday. If I can swing it, I'll try leaving work an hour or so early next week and try to do one then. I do want to start training tobes in the way she should go asap, but there's not much I can do about their office hours.

Why is it that offices for things you have to do are only open during your work hours, and fun things and coffee shops are open at all hours? Makes it hard to put in an honest day's work, ya know?

Another question- Why do giant H2 Hummer's have "HUMMER" written across their side as if you wouldn't have been able to figure it out on your own? I was parked next to one at work yesterday, and I thought about sticking a note on it that said, "Ohhh, so THAT'S what kind of car you have. It was hard to tell from over here." You don't see me writing "COLLEGE CAR" on my '92 toyota, right next to where the ride side mirror should be, do you?

The Heat Is On

Tobey has started her anti-litterbox behavior again. I'm going to take her into the vet first thing in the morning tomorrow. Until then, she has to spend time in the vanity and bathroom area. I can't wait until I have my own apt and she can roam around. Then, if she starts messing with one room in particular, I can just shut the door. Sadly, I can't shut her out of my bedroom without blocking her litterbox unless she is put in the bathroom. Poor Tobey. Poor Patrick, really, who is getting so frustrated with me because I hate to punish her, especially before I take her to the vet to be sure her UTI hasn't come back. I'm such a pushover.

Work is insane. I realize that whenever someone asks me how my day was, I always say "crazy," or "hectic," or something. And they always go, "oh, I'm sorry." But I'm not upset by it. I love when things are just a little nuts and stressed. I work so well under pressure. I guess that's why I didn't think the LSAT was a big deal. And you know how when you got up to like level 13 on Tetris on your gameboy (come on, we were kids of the 80's) everything started moving so quickly and the slightest wrong move pushed everything out of control? Yeah, that's when I started playing. Now, don't get me wrong, when things are bad insane, I will happily collect your sympathy. But I like putting in a hard 8+ hours and feeling like I did something that day. Man, I love that italics button.

So I'm leaving home extra early today so I can pick up the two free tickets to the comedy zone and the vocher for free breakfast for my office that I won on the radio Monday. I have never won a radio contest before. Perhaps I can get them to do the breakfast thing on Friday, as that is the technical "months end" when things are most crazy around work. My coworkers would appreciate that most, I think, esp. the ones that dont thrive so much on pressure.

Well, I need to trap Tobey in the bathroom area. She has been laying around enjoying the bed (where she is not allowed to be when Patrick is here, but we already agreed I was a pushover), but now its time to go up for the day. Poor kit.

Moving so fast

Good grief- I went back to work at the mortgage company and the next thing I knew, two months went by. I work about 45 hours a week now, but the work is interesting and I have much to occupy me, so the days literally fly by. I leave for law school in three and a half months.

I am going to Harvard Law School. I have to admit, it sounds just a little foreign coming out of my mouth. I have never been an ivy league kind of girl, but after I got back from Boston last week, I realized I could be. Boy howdy, I could be.

But first I need to stop saying "boy howdy."

Things in life are at this strange balance right now. I feel as though I am moving in slow motion while everything around me moves in fast forward. I think this is why weeks and months go by so quickly and I feel as though I pulled a rip van winkle and slept through most of it. I find that I prefer to take things a little slower and enjoy them, but things are moving too quickly for me to grab on to them. It's like if you took an anvil and tied a rope around it and threw it off a cliff- then after a few seconds of free falling you decided to grab the rope bare-handed. At best you get some nasty rope burns. It would be my luck that I would get snatched over the edge. Bizarre image to explain not being able to slow things down, but it's the only one I've got right now. Stay tuned.

Counter-Offer Sissiness

Well, the firm's counter-offer was not enough to keep me, so I thanked them and politely declined. I have spent the last week coming in early and leaving late to make sure that everything is up to date and perfect before I go. It has occured to me today that Even if I get here at 7:30am again and don't leave until past 6, I won't get everything done by tomorrow. Not that I HAVE to get everything done, or anything, for that matter- but I pride myself on completing things I take on, and I am a perfectionist in the worst way. I feel so sorry for the paralegal to whom this is all going back- it is a full-time job in itself. Still, she is getting paid well for the work, so she may as well do the work. I am not being paid for this on top of my actual job, so I guess I don't feel so sorry for her afterall.

Back to my beloved mortgage company!

2 out of 3 is... Better

Well, it turns out dear Tobey did indeed have a bladder infection. I now force-feed her a tiny white pill every 12 hours to clear the infection up. She seems in high spirits (minus the dirty look I get every time I stuff another pill down her throat) and has used her litter box twice and the tarp once. Beth, the one-stop-cat-wisdom-machine, advised me to ditch the tarp, as if it has retained even the slightest odor of urine, Tobey will think of it as a second box, infection or not. I told Tobey that if she can use her box three times in a row, she can sleep with me at night and not in the bathroom. At five times in a row, I'll let her go into the bedroom when I'm not home. Right now she is at one time in a row. She should be up to 2 by the time I get home from work, and should reach her 3-goal by the time I get back from jujitsu. I predict a kitty in the bed by tonight.

I also had the vet remove Tobey's claws while she was in, and the whole household is feeling better for it. Tobey hasn't been squirted with the water bottle since she came home Saturday, and I can finally remove the scratch barriers I have placed strategically around the apartment. She doesn't seem to mind having her claws out, and actually spends a good deal of time "sharpening" her imaginary claws on my bedspread.

In work news, after I gave my notice on Friday, the paralegal who has been my mentor alerted me that the firm intended to make a counter-offer to keep me. Sweet. They haven't gotten it together yet, but I told her that I was going to accept the mortgage offer at 5pm if I didn't get a better deal. She wrote down a "list of demands" and told me not to agree to anything till she got an official offer from the partners. They now have one hour and 5 minutes to come up with something good.

One Week's Notice

Today I am giving my one week's notice at my firm. It's nothing personal, it's just that I found a job that actually uses some brain power and pays 40% more than what I am currently making. I know you are thinking, "isn't it supposed to be a two week's notice?" But silly you, Tennessee is a "right to hire" state, which is a catchy way of saying I can quit or they can fire me without any reason at all, as long as it wasn't discriminitory in nature. I'm not contractually obligated to give them anything more than the finger as I waltz out the door, but because I would like to retain a reference, I'm going to give them a week and tie up all of my loose ends here, and then turn the whole shebang back over to the paralegal to whom it all belongs.

Yes, I have finally been wooed back to the mortgage company for which I worked as an intern over the summer. They have had an opening in the Auditing department that sounds like a good match for me. Very detailed work, more responsibility-- I get a stack of work to do every morning that I can work on at my own pace, and there's opportunity for overtime if I want it. And did I mention a 40% pay raise? With a bonus structure? And they don't care if I got to NY the last weekend of March? I'm excited.

Now, on to the bittersweet task of turning in my notice letter. I really like the guy who hired me, but I don't think I'll miss this place. I may miss how easy it is from time to time, but I can't handle not thinking for 8 hours every day. I need something to wrap my mind around. Onward and Upward!

On Tarps and Deterrence

I bought an 8' x 10' blue tarp on Tuesday and spread it out over the bed when I left for work Wednesday morning. When I returned, Tobey had peed on the tarp in two places. While the tarp is considerably easier to clean than the sheets, it didn't really serve as a deterrent, like I had hoped. This morning, I was getting ready around the house, and since Tobey was already laying in my bedroom floor, so I went on and shut the door while I was in the kitchen. (I shut my bedroom door when I leave if I am the only one around so that if Tobey does destroy something while I'm gone, it's only in my space and not the common ones. I'm trying to be considerate to my roomies). Anyway, right as I was going to leave I remembered I needed something back in the bedroom. I walked in, and Tobey was laying in the floor, but behold! a fresh urine puddle on the tarp. Good thing I had already spread it out.

So this is the first time she has peed in my room when I'm home, but of course, she didn't know I was home since I shut the door. I still think this is an attention ploy, and not a urinary tract infection. (The UTI is the most common cause of kitties using the bathroom where they are not supposed to). I'm going to take her to the vet either tomorrow or saturday and see what they say. If it is a UTI, then some antibiotics will clear it up and she will be fine. If it's behavioral, at least they can give me some tips on how to changer her behavior. In the mean time, my substitute-Dr. Spock, Beth, says to try putting a small litter box on the bed, and then moving it to the edge of the bed, then off the bed, then into the bathroom... sort of like leaving a trail of breadcrumbs. This may work. Then again, Resolve Oder Eliminator might have worked. And the shoebox. Or the tarp. But hey, at least my sheets are clean and dry.

At Wit's End

Tobey peed on my bed again yesterday. Twice, actually. Once while I was at work, and then again when I was at Jujitsu. She peed on my bed while I was away at Georgetown. I have determined that it is an attention ploy. She never does it in front on me or when I am home, only when I have left. I am going to pick up a plastic painter's sheet and start covering my bed when I leave. Today I had to lock her in the bathroom while I'm away at work. I feel terrible for doing it, but I just can't have her peeing on my bed every day. Until I can get that sheet tonight, she'll just have to be in the bathroom when I'm not home.

I feel like I imagine foster parents feel: they adopt an abused child, give him love and attention, and then the kid just flips out on them one day to see what they'll do. Or maybe to test to see if their love is only conditional. Or maybe because he is just so starved for attention that he will take anything he can get. At any rate, that's how I feel with Tobey. I give her love and everything is fine until one day, and then she up and pees on my bed. I clean it up, leave the house, and she does it again. Arrggh.

One thing is for sure, I sleep on the most frequently washed sheets in town.

Georgetown II

Well, I had an amazing time up in Washington. Georgetown was really an impressive school, and gave a great presentation. They also gave me a Georgetown Law baseball cap, a silver thermal mug with their emblam embossed on it, and an exceptionally phallic looking chocolate gavel. Nice intangibles. NYU is going to have to give me an apartment to compete. I'll also accept a large envelope stuffed with cash.

One thing I am going to have to get used to is that law teachers are referred to as "Professor," not "Dr." After undergrad you just get to used to identifying everyone as Dr. This and Dr. That. I must have called half the people I met up there "Dr." Still, I'm sure they'll forgive me if I upgrade their degree a little every now and then.

It occurs to me that I have never given my official law school formula for figuring out where I will attend school. It's a tough decision, and I don't trust myself to just pick without a method. (I'm a very cautious person). So here it is, the Christiansen method of selecting a school!

[(total budget {b} / total scholarship {s}) + (rank {r} x 50)]
------------------------(divided by)-------------------------------------
[1000 + (intangibles x 10)]

The lowest score wins. If no scholarship is offered, s will be 1 and angry marks will be placed beside the computation. Intangibles shall include all things such as location, gut feelings, and free things given away at receptions. Tobey is also permitted to declare an intangible by choosing a school viewbook as her favorite chew toy.

For a real-life example, Notre Dame is ranked (r) 21st, and the total budget (b) for attending is $42,000, and they offered a $20,000 scholarship (s), what is their placement number assuming they can claim two intangibles: they are a Christian school and they get lots of snow?

[(42000/20000) + (21x50)]
-------------------------
1000 + 20

= 1.03

There ya go. Now, Georgetown has not offered me a scholarship (but they wrote today to tell me I was being considered for one), so they are considerably behind. Still, the hunt is young. Notre Dame is the only school to put money where their mouth is. (This explains why they are ahead of guys like Columbia in the official standings, though Columbia is by most accounts the superior school). So things will shift. Stay tuned.

Georgetown

Tomorrow morning I am off to D.C. for my first law school visit. (Technically, I went to Northwestern in Chicago back in December, but since I was also interviewing for admission and only there for 5 hours after the semester had ended, I didn't get to check out classes and ask questions of professors and get a guided tour.) Anyway, Georgetown's Early Admitted Students Reception is Thursday and Friday, and Patrick and I will be there with bells on. Patrick has friends in D.C., so that takes care of housing. Georgetown is decidedly taking care of food, as they are providing dinner and cocktails Thursday night and breakfast and lunch on Friday. I will also take a tour of campus, sit in on a class, get a "taste of the D.C. nightlife," and a couple of other law-school related activities. The attorneys here at work tell me that these receptions are just great, and to try to go to as many as possible. Apparently, these things are designed to wine and dine you, and thus convince you that this particular school is worthy of your precious student loans. I will certainly try to make as many as possible, but I haven't got a ton of money laying around for flights and hotel rooms, so I will have to go about this process strategically.

In thinly related news, I certainly need this break from routine. I am in the process of becoming very angry with a coworker, and it's time to take a weekend away from him. I blame him for the splitting headache I have had all day today. (Well, Tobey gets partial credit for keeping me up all night biting my toes). At any rate, I think I'll go home, draw a bath, take a nap, finish packing and go to bed early so I can greet my first trip to Washington well-rested and energized.

The Terrible Twos

My little girl is two years old, and boy do I feel every bit of it. Well, technically she is just over 5 months old, but according to the people who decide these kinds of things, cats age at a rate of five to six years for every one human year. Thus, what should be my adorable 6 month old is actually my hellacious 2-3 year old. I have never been particularly fond of human children at any age, and if Tobey (the kitty in question) is any indication of what motherhood is like, I stand by my convictions.

It seems that Tobey passed through her cuddly kitten stage about two weeks after I adopted her from an animal shelter. Apparently, all she needed was food, shelter, and love to really bring out the psychotic cat that was buried within. Tobey leaps about, claws unsheathed, literally swinging from one up-right upholstered surface to another by her razor-blade nails. (Think curtains to bed skirt, or pants leg to chair back... She also makes sure to take a swing past anything silk or satin should it dare to show itself in the room). I bought her a scratching post. She ignores the scratching post and scratches the stucco wall.

Besides being able to climb surfaces with her little kitten claws, Tobey likes to play a little game called, "I peed in the corner for no apparent reason. Again." Tobey has a litter box that she uses regularly. From day one, she had no problem adapting to it. There was not an accident for weeks until BAM! one day, she just pees on the carpet, four feet from her litter box. I scolded her firmly but gently, cleaned it up with carpet cleaner, put her in her box and scratched her paws around while lovingly reinforcing her (basic training for box use + a little child psychology). She indicated she understood. After two days of model litter box behavior, she does it again. Same spot. No remorse. I go to my sister for help.

Beth, a veteran mother of twins (chocolate point Siamese cats), waved it off with the air of superiority that all veteran mothers have when we new moms cry for help. "You have to use a cleaner that neutralizes the odors," she explains, "or else kitty can still smell the urine and thinks it's an acceptable potty spot. The same thing happened with Dixon when he was that age..." I buy Resolve Pet Stain and odor Remover (free plug for Resolve!). I thoroughly clean the area. Tobey uses her box. A few nights later, I wake up to the sound of kitty nails on carpet. I walk into the bathroom and there is Tobey, trying to cover up a new urine stain in the exact same cleaned-with-Resolve-Pet-Stain-and-odor-Remover-spot! She looks up guiltily. I admonish her more firmly. It's 3 o'clock in the morning and I don't feel like following the scolding with a hug and reassurance that she is not a bad kitty, but she has done something bad. I do so anyway. I clean the stain with the Resolve. I go back to bed.

A week went by and the corner remained clean. Yesterday morning I was rushing around, getting ready for work, and just as I was about to kiss her goodbye, she runs into the bathroom and pees in the corner. "Why, Tobey?!" I exclaim. "WHY?!" I clean up the spot with the Resolve. I scold Tobey. I am 5 minutes late for work. I go back to Beth. She looks slightly amused. Regaining her professionalism, she waves her hand around again and says "Tobey thinks that is HER spot. You need to put something there." "What if she just chooses somewhere else to make "her spot?" I ask. Beth chuckles. When I return from work that evening, I put a large shoe box over "her spot." She sniffed it and walked away. I went about my business. I did the laundry. I checked the shoe box, no problems so far. I went to Jujitsu. When I returned, the shoe box lay unmolested. No problems. I walked into my bedroom and stopped short. She had peed on my bed.

Beth laughed for a full five minutes. I have yet to see the humor.

Maxing the Mailbox Joy

Yesterday, UVA called to congratulate me on being admitted to their law school. The woman continue on about how the official acceptance letter and offer had been mailed that day and I should expect it in 3 to 10 business days. The letter enclosed covers the most frequently asked questions, but should I have any others do not hesitate to call blah blah blah...

The entire time, I was thinking about how I would have preferred if they had just let me get the letter, and then call 3 to 10 business days later to congratulate me in person and ask if I had any additional questions. Don't they know that I live to open my mailbox each evening after work? I feel a little robbed of the excitement. Now I know that in 3 to 10 business days I'm going to have a letter. What fun is that? You know, Georgetown really did it correctly- they sent me a letter, and then a few days later they sent me an invitation to an admitted students reception, and then a few days after that, they emailed me to see if I had any further questions. Well played, Georgetown. Props to NYU and W&L, too. Way to max out the mailbox excitement.

Today my Jujitsu Sensai (yeah, bet you didn't see that one coming) is in my law firm for depostions. By day, my Sensai is the executive chef for an area hospital. The hospital is being sued because a patient became ill one day and claims it was the food. (I suppose I should say she became more ill; she was in a hospital, after all). He and I happened to be discussing the case last night after practice, and he mentioned he would be downtown for a deposition today. I told him to give me a call if he got free for lunch. Lo and behold, today he walked into my firm. It seems we represent the hospital, and by extension, him. (Thank goodness, I signed an evil lawyer-to-be contract swearing to consume in fire anyone who was not on our side). It's a weird mixing of worlds. I am involved in a ton of different things, but usually they are so diverse that there is no danger of a figure from one showing up in the context of another. Here we have a bizarre exception, and I think we both felt the effects. I've never seen him in a suit, he's never seen me not dripping in sweat. I think we both felt a little a little silly seeing each other play dress-up.

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

Ha! My beloved mailbox came through for me once again- Washington and Lee offered me admission, and NYU invited me to an admitted students reception. I will be satisfied for at least three days. Only 8 more schools to hear from...

In unrelated news, it amazes me how quickly I have become "old" upon entering this permi-real world. The other night a friend called me at midnight to catch up, and I remember waking up thinking, "Good grief! What TIME is it?! Don't people realize that it's a work night?" And to think I just graduated in early December! It's stunning how quickly an 8-5 job can turn you into your parents. Luckily for me, this "real world" stuff will only last another 6.5 months, and then I will be tucked back where I belong: in school.

Mail-Checkers Anonymous

Hi, my name is S., and it's been 10 days since I got into a law school.

Chorus: "Hi, S!"

I know I shouldn't be such a compulsive mailbox-checker, but God help me, I am. Ever since I got into NYU on December 7, I have been a non-stop mailbox fanatic. I am now officially invited to attend four schools, but I applied to 13. (13 sounds a bit extreme, I know, but if you gain nothing else from me, know that I live for options. One is certainly MY lonliest number).

I wish schools would all send out their acceptance/rejection letters on the same day, so one evening, I would open my mailbox and find it stuffed with letters. Instead, I open my mailbox every day; some days to success, most to nothing. (Note: "Nothing" does not include the amazing coupons I once got to Kentucky Fried Chicken, which turned out to be a misprint, but because they had issued the coupons, they had to give me what they promised. I'm talking 10-pieces with 2 mashed potatos, 2 cole slaws and 6 biscuits for $4.99. I ate like royalty for three days off of one coupon. You should have seen the face of the guy behind the cash register when he rang it all up. But really, that's a post for another time).

It's nearing five and my work day is completing. Only 15 minutes until I am home and able to check the mailbox.

Two Roads Diverged...

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
--I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.

--Robert Frost