Moving On

The bar is over. I won't know for sure that I failed until sometime in April. I finished about an hour early yesterday (I don't spend much time dithering in an exam - if I don't know the answer right away, staring at it won't magically make me remember the proper rule) and walked out of that convention center positively giddy. I'm free! I can do whatever I want without feeling guilty because I'm not studying! It feels like it's been ages since that has been true. Probably because it has. Of course, now I get to feel guilty about not doing more to find an income stream . . . but that's not quite as bad.

Honestly

The first question on the Idaho Essay section was about potatoes. Way to live up to the cliche state of mine. There was also a question that involved watering cattle. I've finished up the essay sections, and the verdict is: atrocious. Like really really bad. The question about potatoes? I was able to vaguely say that the contract was governed by the UCC, but apart from that? No clue. The question about cattle was all about water rights and I basically answered the whole thing with "first in time is first in right". Over and over. Que sera.

Yesterday, before the exam began I was so filled with nerves and adrenaline it was scary. I was hyped up and shaking, but luckily I had internet access during the TWO HOUR wait between the obligatory check-in and the actual beginning of the exam and so while crazy people reviewed foot-high stacks of home-made flash cards I IM'd with Red Fraggle about the Oscars and played literati with Zach. I'm really grateful for my friends.

And thanks to everyone wishing me luck. I really appreciate it. I might be asking for those positive vibes again come July.

Logging Out

I'm about to head down the mountain until this blasted bar exam is over. I'll spend tonight holed up in my grandparents' basement, watching the Oscars and "studying." Tomorrow afternoon I'll begin two and a half days of hell as I try to remember what the hell a "security" is and how it can be "perfected"; the specific intent required for arson; what makes a marriage void vs. voidable; the difference between a vested interest subject to total divestment, and a contingent remainder; and the defenses to contract formation.

The good news is that on Wednesday at 5:00 p.m. M.S.T. or thereabouts this will all be over . . . for now.

Waiting

At this point I'm just waiting for the fucking bar exam to be OVER already. I'm sick of not studying for it, and I'm sure you're all sick of me writing about how panicked/bored I am because of it, and it's just time to move on already.

If I were a little more self-aware, or felt up for a long introspective post, I could turn this into a deep examination of how for 30 years I've been waiting for something to start/end so my "real" life could begin. But I've had that epiphany before, and other than various vows to "seize the day already!" that peter out the next time I get antsy with the status quo or have a grand idea that can't be implemented immediately . . . let's just all take that as written/read.

One example of why I love my mother

We were chatting last night, and when she asked what I was doing, I was honest and told her "Well, I'm watching Law & Order. It's sort of like a refresher course in [inaccurate] criminal procedure. I should be studying, but at this point? How much can I really learn? I'm so going to fail." Her response: "[Laughter] Well, it shows a certain panache to pass one of the hardest bars in the country and then fail in Idaho."

Word. This is where I get my skill at spin. I'm lazy, but I'm lazy with panache.

Chicago (Some More)

I'm hanging out in a friend's apartment, sitting on her couch with her dog, not studying, getting nervous for this afternoon's interview. Actually being in Chicago is panicking me a little. Driving in from the airport last night, through the gritty streets, with the traffic and the cold and the urban-ness of it all . . . is this what I want? I feel lonely already. It feels different sitting alone in an apartment in the city than it does alone in a cabin in the mountains. I shouldn't feel this way. One of my best friends in the world picked me up at the airport yesterday. We ordered take-out and chatted into the night and she'll be interviewing me this afternoon and I know if I move back here we'll do this a lot. Sit together eating Thai and watching bad TV. And that sounds good. It sounds great. Walking out my front door and ending up in a coffee shop or an antique store, access to public transportation, and places and reasons to wear high heels all sound great.

But . . . I think I need to make an effort to find a job in Idaho. I need to at least try. Because I already miss the mountains.

Chicago!

I'm off to that frigid city today for an interview tomorrow. They have me going the long way, through Portland. Bright side: I guess I should look at it as an extra three hours with nothing to do but study.

I'm feeling much more positive. I deep-cleaned my kithen yesterday, and having one room in my house not be a slovenly mess cheered me up enormously. It's really odd how that works, one little patch of order and cleanliness and my faith in my ability to, you know, not self-destruct, is restored. Now if only I could get my vacuum working again . . .

Another Mini Breakdown

Last night, as I was driving home after my second straight 9.5 hour day, I slammed on my brakes to narrowly avoid running down a beautiful red fox who'd decided to dart in front of my car and I was barely able to hold back the tears. It's not like there's anything horrible happening, and the good news is I did NOT kill a fox last night, but I'm tired and a little overwhelmed. And more than the feelings of exhaustion and stress, what really made feel that panicky flutter in the depths of my chest was this fear: If two long(ish) days of work, an upcoming bar exam, one sick cat, two cats who hate each other, and the prospect of a job interview are enough to make me feel like throwing both cats into a snow bank and crawling under the comforter for a few (many) days, how the HELL am I going to go back to working 50+ hour weeks? Can I really do that and not lose my mind? In stronger moments, I think of course I can. People do it all the time. Most of my friends do it and sure, they complain, but they're still mentally intact. They enjoy their lives if not their jobs. But last night I wasn't so sure I could. Or more accurately, if I can do it without chemical support. Not that there's anything wrong with that of course. It's been so nice to be happy without them, but I'm not clever enough to come up with an alternative that doesn't involve defaulting on my student loans.

Uh oh

The bar exam will be OVER two weeks from today. Um. Can you guess how the studying is going given the content of my last post?

Is there a rehab for literati addicts?

Zach and I spent 7 hours playing literati today. We weren't even having fun after the first couple of games. To the contrary, the words "hell" "nightmare" and "disaster" were used repeatedly to describe the experience. But we just couldn't stop. We'd break away for lunch and then mysteriously find ourselves drawn back to Social Lounge 23. We kept telling each other that we really needed to get on with our lives. I put on boots and brought in wood . . . and then went back to Social Lounge 23. It was always "just one more game." We were out of control. During this horrid descent into torpor I drank about 10 cups of tea. By hour 6 I felt like a jittery slug, but we still played two more "one more" games. I can't even imagine how long we would have gone on if Zach hadn't finally had to go to work.

I need to find something new to talk about

But for the first time, I'm beginning to think spring might actually happen. It's 34 degrees outside. That is two whole degrees ABOVE freezing! I can't remember the last time it was this warm. It's practically balmy. I'm even lounging around the house in regular pants (rather than two layers of pants) and NO SOCKS (rather than two pairs of socks). It feels strange. I can actually see the snow bank in front of my living room windows shrinking a bit. I'll really know spring is on the way when the snow is below the window sill again.

Not So Fast

My interview has been postponed. Both my interviewer and I were going to be flying into Chicago today and there's some sort of winter storm warning there too? Maybe? I don't know. I'm too obsessed with my own weather to bother looking up anyone else's. It's still too dark outside to see if we got the 6-10 inches they were predicting for last night. Anyway, the interviewer thought there was a good chance that one or both of us wouldn't actually make it, so we're going to re-schedule for next week. Or the week after. I hope.

I suppose with this unexpected free time I should be studying for the bar, huh?

By the way, snow shoes are just as fun as I'd anticipated. And I haven't fallen down once yet. Maybe this afternoon I'll go farther than the woodshed on them.

Also by the way: Go Obama!

Big City Adventures

So, after the rude awakening with the mouse, the rest of the weekend was really lovely. I drove (slowly, it was icy) down to Boise and then flew to Seattle for a very short visit with my mom. We stayed at a hotel downtown and I got to satisfy my only four goals for Seattle: (1) I bought snowshoes (I'm sure there will be an update soon on how that turned out) at the flagship REI store; (2) I ate sushi . . . twice in two days (omg do I miss sushi); (3) I bought far too many 1930s mystery novels at Seattle's awesome bookshops and antique stores; and, most importantly, (4) I ate crumpets and drank mugs of strong tea at The Crumpet Shop . . . also twice. Because really, does Seattle mean anything other than books, crumpets, fancy sporting goods, and sushi? I mean sure, there is, allegedly, an amazing art museum, and some people rave about all the excellent coffee, and there are those glorious flower and fruit selllers in Pike Place, and there's something about a needle reaching toward space, but give me a soft and crunchy ricotta and nutella crumpet, a vat of strong tea, and a novel with an opening paragraph like this:

I had dark forebodings. I had evil premonitions. Naturally, Adam Oakman being the high type of man he was, and his visitors being his relatives, mannerly and well educated, I didn't predict anything so uncouth as murders and dead boties disappearing like the morning dew all over the place. But I had forebodings, just the same.

And that adds up to an excellent weekend in Seattle to me.

But now that I'm home, I have to try on my suits and hope that one still fits, re-pack my bag, and head back to the airport tomorrow for an even shorter trip to Chicago for my job interview. There's another winter storm warning tonight, so even though I've been home less than 24 hours, I might head down to the valley this afternoon just in case. Wish me luck. I think I'd really like to get this job. I think. Maybe.

Eeek!

Around 5:30 on Saturday morning, Freckles began an odd little routine. She ran upstairs, jumped up on my bed, batted her paws at my legs, jumped back off the bed, ran downstairs. She did this four or five times before I decided to give up on sleep. I turned the light on during an on-the-bed stage of the procedure and found that she wasn't batting at my legs, she was batting at a DEAD MOUSE. A DEAD MOUSE. ON MY BED. Sadly for Freckles, she didn't get the praise that I'm sure she was expecting this feat to bring. I shreaked, she took her prize back downstairs, I followed her (having carefully checked my slippers before putting them on), stole her precioussssss, and chucked what was once a really adorable little creature (the mouse, not Freckles, although on second thought Freckles didn't seem quite as adorable at 5:45 on Saturday morning as she had when I went to bed on Friday night) unceremoniously into the garbage bin on the porch. I'm not sure which bit of knowledge is more discomfiting, that there was a DEAD MOUSE on my bed, or that, before it was dead, there was a mouse LIVING somewhere in my cabin. I'm not so hardened by my 7 months in the mountains that I don't find both thoughts upsetting.

Home Again

I did spend the night in town yesterday. I didn't get out of work until dark, and it just seemed like tempting fate to try the reverse of my morning adventure at night. But I unexpectedly had the morning off today so I ventured home to find what the storm had wrought . . . three feet of snow that had drifted into my carport and neck-deep drifts between my house and the woodshed. An hour and a half of digging took care of the first issue, but those drifts between me and the woodshed . . . they look damn near insurmountable. Seriously. Some effort and a lot of stumbling could get me through them, but how the hell could I carry wood enough to raise the temperature of the house even a degree? I just don't see how it's possible. And there's no point in digging a path, because the wind is still blowing, and that's just where the snow settles. The only thing I've been able to come up with is a sled to carry the wood, and snowshoes to carry me. Doesn't that sound like fun? I actually think that sounds like fun! I have a real, practical need for snowshoes! They're not toys, they're equipment. Maybe you think I'm a nutjob, but extreme weather leaves me so happy (as long as no one gets hurt and I don't have to drive in it obvs).

I'm heading to Seattle tomorrow, the home of REI, and I think I might come home with snowshoes. But before that, I have to make my way back into McCall (and then home again). Wish me luck!