Friday, January 16, 2009

In Which My Psychological Breakdown Necessitates a Beadazzler.

Gah. I have so, so many words left to write and bluebook on The Note That Made Baby Jesus Cry, and oh-mother-of-truck it has been a long week. Resigning myself to defeat, or at least mediocrity, I dropped my Federal Courts for Super Smart Geniuses class, and am going to add something that doesn't renew my 1L fears about failing out of law school. Academic interests be damned, I can't afford to keep playing fast and loose with my GPA.

Because it turns out, Internet, that my easy-A, piece of cake, gosh-I'm-so-smart class? Not so much a gosh-I'm-so-smart as it was gosh-you're-all-pedestrian-and-middle-of-the-road-students class. At least I'm not alone in this, but that sucks. Getting grades in sucks. Writing student notes sucks. The unholy cold that has descended upon NoSchool sucks. This is a pity party. Bring red wine.

Yesterday, I preempted my usual grand mal seizure of hyperbolic panic that usually occurs at the end of the semester, and decided to have a good healthy freakout right in the middle of the lounge. Sometimes these things sneak up on you, and the next thing you know, you're writing emails to Darwin entitled "This message kills puppies and sunshine," and making desperate declarations about how I was never going to do well, ever, in anything, because I'm Just Mediocre.

The I'm Just Mediocre (TM) crisis is an approximately bi-annual event for me. Some people fear snakes, or flying, or public speaking. I fear waking up one morning realizing that I'm not quite as special or talented as I have been leading everyone else to believe all these years. To be fair, I'm not particularly interested, when it comes down to it, in doing many of the steps it would take to avert this problem (see: starting my note on time, studying instead of blogging), but still. The panic is real.

Because the I'm Just Mediocre doomsday is a very real possibility, I'm endeavoring to learn as many smoke and mirror tactics as possible (this is also why I love, love, love undergrads). In corresponding with Funny Mean Friend last night, I asked if she thought I could finish my Horrible Note That Ruined Christmas my the due date, in such a way that my editors would conclude I was merely an undertalented writer, as opposed to a lazy, lazy procrastinator. She prefers getting labeled as a procrastinator, while I prefer whatever doesn't lead to me being made to write the damn thing again, but she had the following timeline:

However, the shorter answer is: of course you can. 20 hours to write. 4 to eat, sleep, and bathe. 20 more to revise and proofread, with another 4 for your breakdown. Beautiful symmetry there.

Having already had my breakdown (and in under 4 hours!) I am running ahead of schedule. Mediocre people don't run ahead of schedule, so things are looking up for me. Barring any actual brilliance to be evinced in my Note That Kicks Puppies And Steals Candy, we've decided that Beadazzling it is a valid alternative option- it is the nice haircut and shiny jewelry equivalent for the paper-writing set. Dazzle and distract! Dazzle and distract!

Here's hoping my (mediocre) writing is covered up by the glitter. I'll see you on the other side!


Virgin In The Volcano said...

I'll drink to your mediocrity and mine anytime. Besides, it's just law school, right?

The Girl in the Third Row said...

Having a pity party on your blog is much better than having a pity party while drunk at a bar in the viscinity of other law me!

JD Maybe said...

Mediocre people don't worry about being mediocre. You must know your writing is better than great--and my writing probably makes you sick. (haha) And like Girl in the third row said....having a melt down anywhere but a bar is a good thing. I did the melt down in the bar with a bunch of lawyers and I can't wait to forget about it. Ugh.

Amanda said...

that's my fear too...maybe i should go out and buy a beadazzler :)

paragon2pieces said...

Great post!

All rights reserved to my snotty and generally self-deprecating writing. And if your comments bother me, I'll delete them. That's right, pumpkin.
...How dreary—to be—Somebody!
How public—like a Frog—
To tell one's name—the livelong June—
To an admiring Bog!
-- Emily Dickinson