Not Quite a Love Letter

Dear Beginning-of-the-Semester-Self,

I hate you. Your notes are incomprehensible and overly detailed. It's taking me a lifetime to sift through everything and find things that matter for my outlines. And many times, YOU DIDN'T EVEN WRITE DOWN the main point. I just want you to know that if I fail, it's all your fault.

Sincerely,

End-of-Semester-Studying-for-Finals-Self

Notes from the closet

...The storage closet that is. This weekend my brother-in-law and Pete installed electricity in what has now officially been deemed, "The-Eternal-Cave-of-Studying-and-Flashcard-ing-Complete-With-Light-Heat-and-Green-Tea." It's awesome. How did I come into possession of such a flashcard and green tea laden den? The story goes like this:

Several weeks ago, after an addictive string of home improvement shows on HGTV, I went on a rampage and cleaned out our storage closet located outside on our balcony. I proceeded to put down carpet, assemble shelves, and decorate. (My landlord would love this.) I moved in a desk, tapestry, pillows, blankets and a space heater. (Observing this from inside, Pete repeatedly complemented my "manic" behavior) Anyhow, since there was no outlet, I had to run an extension cord from inside the house and it sucked. I could only have one dim little light. It was like living in the allegory of the cave, only Plato never showed up. Or it was sort of like being a bear. A bear trying futilely with it's mushy bear brain to understand future interests and the like.

But today is a new day. A new day in which my cave is much more like a real office. A new day in which I am not a bear, but a human (albiet still trying futilely with a bear brain to understand future interests) Today I can drop 12 pounds and go on a study bender because the bright light and lack of windows prevents me from realizing I've been trapped in a 4x8 storage closet for 36 hours. There might be hope for my exam performance (not to mention my beer belly) afterall.

So thank you brother-in-law, thank you Pete, and most of all, thank you manic, uncontrollable urges to pretend like I'm on Design on a Dime. I couldn't have done it without you.

Wishing I were the turkey this Thanksgiving...

Exams begin in 15 days. In other words, I have fifteen days to learn everything I have ignored all semester. While I'd like to blame external sources that have had a tangential effect on my semester (laptop, puppies, ice cream), the truth of the matter is that my complete and total lack of legal knowledge is the result of my own negligence. Luckily, Thanksgiving break is coming up and I should have plenty of time to study. Here is my plan:

Tuesday night: Play my new law and order computer game until I pass out (practical experience, you can't beat it.)

Wednesday: Surf channels all day looking for a Law & Order marathon. (practical experience) Celebrate Pete's birthday by eating a criminal amount of cake.

Thursday: Prevent an aggravated assault and murder on the turkey by dressing him up as myself and volunteering to take his place. Then fake my own death, take my law school loans and run to Mexico.

Flawless.

The Never Ending Story

I've been on Craigslist.
I've been on [redacted].
I've been on Icanhascheezburger.
I'be been on the live puppy cam.
I've been on cute overload.
I've been on CNN.com.

And.
I'm.
Still.
In.
Torts.

I wonder if I could electricute myself to death with my lap top cord.

Nine Pages of....

Magic Memo Cocktail: Claritin, Flonase, Tylenol Cold (two tablets), two glasses of wine, Kanye West songs

I wrote the first complete draft of my memo last night. Fueled by the Magic Memo Cocktail (See above), I was able to write just one page over the limit set by our professor. However, in the bright and unforgiving light of morning, I am too scared to look at what I've written. When I went to bed last night I was satisfied that I had sufficiently explained the legal concept involved. But today I'm afraid I will open the document only to realize I've written a 9 page story about penguins. How to summon up the requisite courage?

I'm mixing another Magic Memo Cocktail. Check back for results. If the Cholera doesn't kill me first.

Return of the 19th Century

Sore Throat.
Sniffly nose.
Bodily Weakness.
Sweating profusely.
Fatigue.

There's only one expalantion: I have Cholera. And it couldn't have come at a better time: three weeks before exams.

So long cruel world!

My mother has always said I have a criminal streak, but I think law school is exacerbating the condition. With my newly acquired legal knowledge, all I can think about is how to manipulate the law to get away with all sorts of detestable crimes. Murder? But I didn't have the requisite mens rea! Stealing property? No, it was adversely possessed! Official immunity defense? I'll qualify because I already know what I have to say to succeed.

Henceforth, I will only respond to the name, "Evil Genius."

Sincerely,

Evil Genius