Thursday, May 08, 2008

Stick a fork in me, I'm done

Done, done, done with finals. More done than a steak in Hell's Kitchen, and happier than a 4 year old in a lollipop factory.

How was it? Well....It was...."utterly macabre."*

I don't think these things get any better with time. Last semester, I infused a little personal drama into finals week- it made the whole experience fly by like a very, very, ugly, book-filled avalanche. This semester, sans-drama and sans-personal (life. At all. Ever. Sigh.), the only clear improvement seemed to be that my level of OCD preparation increased exponentially.

Now, to be clear: this does not mean that I actually knew more about about any of my classes. It means that my big pretty binders were chock full of stuff, everything was cross-referenced and color-coded, and my outlines could have been bound and sold as full-length novels (this will not make Oprah's book club).

Fortunately, now that the overwhelming sense of failure is starting to dwindle (the law school is not giving me nearly enough money to make it worth their time to flunk me out)**. I seem to have blocked most of what happened during finals out of my head- an unhealthy influx of Efficient Breach, Doritos, and Coke Zero will do that to you- but the brief recap:

Property: Open final. Swear softly. Am I in the right room? Did we ever read this? Furtive peek at the surrounding faces. Good. Panic is clearly a theme here- good thing I'm close to the door. Briefly consider drawing picture instead of answering multiple choice. No, probably won't get creativity points for that. Struggle with word limit, naturally. Eliminate all adjectives & adverbs, play fast & loose with hyphens & compound words. Leave the final more confused than when I entered it (this is a recurrent theme).
Post Final, the Anti-Gunner announces that he clearly over studied. Briefly consider beating him to death with the Binder of Doom. Instead, glare with irritation, attempt to kill him with my eyes. No more giving lecture notes to the hungover kid.

Contracts: Why would you give two issue spotters? You didn't seem like that much of a sociopath, big flamboyant Contracts prof. You seemed so huggy...but you're not huggy, you're malicious. Also, I'm concerned: this makes sense. If I have learned anything in law school, its that making sense gets you D's. What am I missing, and why am I done 20 minutes early? Blast.

Con Law: Apparently, there was an awful-off, and professor Con Law wins. Because he is Very Busy and Important, he didn't have time to come down & start the final, so none of us actually knew was was going on pre-test...this theme continued throughout the test, which may or may not have actually been written for our class. One girl cried (no, not me. Please!).
At 2/3 of the way through, it became clear that I was not going to finish any kind of readable work product by the time the test was 'done': seriously considered getting up and leaving on more than one occasion (would they fail you for that? I doubt I'd have gotten less than a D. It was mostly-done). Didn't get up, because quitters never win, and winners never quit, or something. Mostly didn't because it was possible that everything I'd put down was wrong, and wanted to at least get points for volume.

Parking Lot: Tailgated in the rain, finally got to return to something I'm good at. Blessed relief: the worst is over, I'm 1/3 of the way done with my legal career. Shot-gunned a beer.*** Yes, I would have had a martini, but when the spirit hits you, you've just got to move, you know? Its hard to have a spur-of-the-moment martini.



...And now? Now I'm doney-done-done. The sudden rush of free time is a little unnerving. First step- laundry. Second step- long neglected crossword. Third step- seriously consider changing out of pajamas. The world is my oyster!

The upside of all this school-time is that I'm starting to have an inkling of what I want to do with my degree. It turns out that I loved Property (this becomes even more apparent when thrown into contrast against Con Law. I did NOT love Con Law. Ironic, no?) Whats more, I didn't even love Property in the sarcastic way: I loved it in the "ooh! Goody! Land use! Zoning! Estates!" way. I think we could have a serious, long term relationship, Property and I.

Don't worry, I'm sure there's a support group for that. I'll work it out. In the meantime- summer job! 2L year! Yeah!


Onward & upward, folks! Good luck to those who are still in the home stretch...





* Gob Bluth, from the greatest show ever. If you have not seen (the heart-breakingly cancelled) Arrested Development, go educate yourself. Start from Season 1. You can thank me later.

** (I am extremely parenthetical today. Have you noticed?)

*** Oh please. No, I haven't grown out of it, and neither have you, really. There is only one credited response to "Final From Hell": d) Shotgun beer, eat hot wings.

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...How dreary—to be—Somebody!
How public—like a Frog—
To tell one's name—the livelong June—
To an admiring Bog!
-- Emily Dickinson