The last mile

It's exhausting. But I'm starting to see a faint flicker of light off in the distance. Could it be the end of the tunnel?

I wonder if when it's all over, and I look back at my time in law school, it'll seem like one long fever dream.

My struggle

Other law students in my classes have a serious advantage on me this semester. It all comes down to my struggle: inability to focus. This is serious. I stare my computer for hours, wasting away time playing WordTwist or obsessively scouring facebook for new or missed updates from people I haven't spoken to in years. I read about feminism and racism and chat with Fox News readers in the comments section of the DREAM Act articles. (My new nickname, which I like to think of as a term of endearment: "Troll.")

What I don't do is work. I should be either (a) outlining for my two remaining seated exams or (b) completing my take-home exam due on Monday night. On any given day, however, I spend anywhere from 2-4 total hours doing actual, honest-to-God work. On days that I don't have something due the next morning, that number hovers around 2. And it's inexcusable given that I have the entire day to get work done.

This isn't some cheery, "oh, you know LAW SCHOOL" post about how annoying this work is and how much of it there is. This is a real struggle that I'm dealing with. I'm so proud of myself when I get twenty minutes of work done that I take the next hour off, which inevitably ends up in me getting into something that distracts me until dinnertime or some other clear break in the day.

The thing is that I'm smart. I know that I am. I'm very capable of learning new and complex concepts and I learn them well under pressure. But it's a razor-thin line between "works well under pressure" and "waited to the last minute and paid for it." I'm pretty good at walking that line, but I can be clumsy. And even when I gracefully tip-toe my way to firmer ground, it's a nerve-wracking and time-consuming experience. And I can't help but wonder how I'd do if I wasn't constantly fighting this internal battle.

Some of this may just be an innate difficulty concentrating. Some of it may have to do with poor time management, and the desne reading material. Some of it may have to do with my resentment of law school, a passive-aggressive refusal to take this all seriously. Some of this is probably burnout. And some of this problem may even harken back to childhood, a regressive re-experiencing of the pressure that was placed upon me as "the Smart One" in my family at a very young age. Some of this all may be excuses. I suspect all of the above are true, to some degree.

All I know is that the longer I sit here distracting myself, the worse I feel. And the madder I get that it's another Friday night, another one of a limited number of weekends in my life that will be dedicated to this struggle. I feel like I'm missing out on life, and that, for me, is the hardest part of law school. Even as a 3L.

NaBloPoMo (overwhelmed procrastinator edition)

Is this why law students drink so much?

Right now I have the following concerns running through my head:
- I need to read, like, the entire textbook for Human Rights. I really should get on that.
- I've only outlined the first day of class for Crim Pro. Need to catch up. I really should get on that.
- What happened? I was doing good in Fed Courts but I'm so lost now, I can't make myself open the casebook. I really should get on that.
- I can't believe I didn't even know my ADR professor's name so I could get her exams from the library. I really should get on that.
- This fellowship ain't coming through. I need to start applying for jobs. I really should get on that.
- If I want to do deportation defense, I have to stop lurking around the offices of the clinic attorneys that I admire and actually initiate conversations. I really should get on that.
- Wasn't the State of Virginia trying to audit my taxes from 2005. I was supposed to follow up. I really should get on that.
- Running low on cash, but somehow I've gotta find some gas money so I can take my brother to Atlantic City on Friday. I really should get on that.
- Where are all my friends? It's been too long since I called my BFF and I feel like I never talk to anyone anymore. I really should get on that.
- I can't believe how many days I forgot to take my Prozac before remembering this morning. Plus, I don't have a doctor's appointment for when prescription refills run out. I really should get on that.

Man, I could use a drink. I really should get on that.

Cloudly with a chance of sky.

Here's the thing: I really just hate having a lot of expectations placed on me. I perform at my best when nobody is expecting much of me. So if you know me in real life, and you think I'm flighty, or disorganized, or lazy? Well, then. I've apparently done my job.

I got to law school by telling myself I was just playing around with brain teasers. But when it comes to actually setting firm goals, it's a flop. No sooner do I commit myself to doing something than I've found a way to weasel my way out of it, or sabotage it, or wait for someone to kick my arse in gear. Call it a high stakes version of performance anxiety. It's why I'd never make a good... oh, crap.

The thing is, when I know I'm good at something, and I just do it because I enjoy it and I don't care what other people think, there's no problem. Take schmoozing, for example. That's something I can do. Put me in a room full of people I don't know, and I'll come away with 20 business cards. Legal research... same thing. I LOVE me some Lexis Nexis! Ooh, or the best example? Boggle! I will kick your BEHIND at Boggle! And if I don't? Fantastic!! I love getting beaten at my own game: it helps me get better.

Here's what I don't do well: Deadlines. Writing my thoughts out on paper for someone else to read. Developing my ideas on a timeframe. Meeting the expectations of others. It's why I'm sitting here typing thoughts on a blog that virtually nobody reads, rather than writing them out for an essay that could make or break my shot at a post-graduation dream job. I just have a hard time making myself do it. And believe me, plenty of my procrastination efforts have involved psychanalyzing myself to death about this hang up. Be glad, o invisible reader, that I'm not boring you with the fruits of that labor here.

So I'll do what I always do. Wait to the last minute. Force it out of myself as I cringe, waiting for someone to scream at me for what a horrible job I'm doing. Cautiously open one eye and see the sky hasn't fallen as I've made my best efforts at getting people to give up on me. And eventually, submit what I've got, and hope it's enough, while telling myself I did the best I could. And maybe I'll be telling myself the truth. I just don't know.

Protruding stomach

I have a protruding stomach. When I sit down, my stomach hangs out and it looks like I have a big ol' gut like my dad's. I don't necessarily hate it. I've gotten used to it in a lot of ways. I do hate that the bottom half of me is wider than the top half. That much I do hate. But what I hate the most is the way T reacts to it. He tries to play it cool, and a lot of the time he does. But I can tell that he doesn't prefer my fatty fat round belly. And of course I don't blame him. I was pretty thin when we met. I'm expanding and it's hard to stop it. He deserves a wife that tends to her appearance. And considering he likes me better without make-up, tans and fancy clothes, it's not the hardest thing in the world for me to make an effort on this one front. The more I think about it, the worse I feel. And that's the cold hard truth.

On the one hand, I want to get in shape and take better care of myself because it seems like a good way to care for myself and show myself some love. On the other hand, I feel obligated to do it faster! quicker! better! because it's what my husband deserves. And to not do it is to be a bad wife, a lazy wife, a fat slob. This is real. When I feel that way about myself, all I want to do is crawl into a hole and give up. I start to make excuses about how when you start encroaching on 30 your metabolism slows down, it gets harder to keep off the weight. And that's true. I am mad that it's so much more work for me now than it ever was. I'm mad that I have to bust my butt to do what happens to T naturally. And I'm mad at myself for not being a natural at it.

If I were motivated from a healthy place, I would probably get a lot more done. This summer I stopped drinking beer because it seemed to be a major culprit of empty extra calories. But then the school year started. I've fallen off that wagon. It's hard to feel empowered and focused on the positive when there's a million deadlines hanging over your head and it feels like your future depends on each of them. I can't focus on more than one thing at a time: school reading, fellowship deadlines, keeping fit. These all require a lot of effort and I'm not in the habit of making any of them second nature. Right now, fellowship deadlines are #1. But after that? It'll probably be replaced by other job-searching efforts. And an endless litany of excuses for carrying around an extra 15 pounds will be sure to follow.

So instead of being motivated by feeling really on top of my game and wanting to take care of myself, I'm motivated by lingering glances and minute gestures that indicate my belly has not gone unnoticed. I'm motivated by shame and self-hate. And these are not very motivating factors in my experience. For some people they are extremely motivating: some people turn shame and self-hate into a militaristic regimine of dieting and brutal exercise that works wonders. That's really what I wish I could do. Turn my negative emotions into something productive. In moderation, it's probably a good thing. Better, at least, than wallowing, which is what I see myself as doing. Wallowing with the occasional fitful attempt at getting off the couch. But like a half-finished course of antibiotics, partial attempts at exercise inevitably make the malaise harder to beat. Sure, you're up and running one night, or even one week. But eventually you stop. And the next time you want to get up and try again, you remember how you failed the last time, which once again raises the volume of that little voice in your head saying, "What's the point? You always give up eventually." Until eventually that little voice is the only thing you can hear, and it's all but insurmountable.

I think I need a support network.

ohgoodgodlongrantingpost

Gah... the last week and a half has been non-stop. After the 4th of July camping/visiting home/meeting new honorary nephew 3-day weekend, we got back to Big City in time to pick up our friend A for 5 days of visiting/staying at our house so he could look for an apartment and a job since he is moving here for the second half of the summer. That week ended with our loading the family (me, T, the dog and our friend A) into the car and roadtripping it back down to Virginia. With a very brief stop off at my parents to leave the dog, we kept going south to Richmond so T could work on a print job all weekend. The drive took 6 hours, which is two hours longer than it should've taken. And when we were in Richmond, I spent the whole time watching a very active 16-month old and taking my former Little Sister out to see Toy Story 3 & go to a belated birthday dinner. T's print job took so long that we didn't leave Richmond until late on Sunday, and after picking up the dog, we didn't get back to the Big City until nearly 3 a.m. I woke up to go to work the next morning and stayed at the office late so I could meet my visiting mom, sister and aunt at their hotel when they got into the city. After schlepping them around the city for a few hours, and getting us all stuck in the middle of a rainstorm without an umbrella, even the wine and mojito I'd enjoyed at my mom's expense wasn't doing it for me. I put them in a cab around 11:30 at night and conked out on the couch in the middle of an episode of the Office. I fell asleep with my bra on. This morning, I was going to go to work but fell asleep on a chair in the living room and decided I needed to call in sick. Which I did, except that at 11 my family showed up so we could all go to brunch. Then I had to walk them around the Market, which was nice, until each of them in turn had a bathroom emergency. We got back to the car, I drove them to another sightseeing part of the city, we parked, fed the meter $1.50, got ice cream and came back 40 minutes later and two minutes too late, to be greeted by a $36 parking ticket. Once they left, I fell back into a blissful sleep until 7 p.m. Then grocery shopped, cooked a very late dinner, watched more the office and got into soft clothes. And then, got into an argument with T about money. Oh, the joys! I just want to crawl under the covers and sleep for a week. Or more realistically, not leave town again for a month.

Stick to the eye

I walked the dog to the park today, as per usual. At the end of a long day (shepardizing cases for an emergency motion to stay a deportation & taking the heartbreaking affidavit of a Sudanese refugee), all I wanted to do was get home and lose myself in a sudoku puzzle. So when I raised a stick in the air for E to jump up and grab, of course he jumped too soon and knocked the end of the stick directly into my eyeball. And of course, as I'm panicking and envisioning my eyeball being dislodged from my socket, I go running over to three complete strangers on a park bench to ask if my eye is still there. In my mind, the whole thing was nothing short of a medical emergency. I couldn't understand why they were all just sitting there, and why the one woman kept talking to my dog about how, "sorry, mom said you couldn't have any treats," like in the midst of being blinded for life I'm going to change my mind and allow her to give my dog a greenie. The man looked in my eye and said it looked fine. I wanted them to walk me home. I couldn't open my eye! Instead, I took E and stumbled across the street to Best Woman's apartment. Thankfully, she was home. She let me in, sympathized with my discomfort, did not make me feel like an idiot for being freaked out, gave me eye gel and walked me and the dog back to my apartment. What a good neighbor.

In other news, my best friend just gave birth to a healthy baby boy. El bendito was born at 11:47 p.m. on Sunday, June 27th, 2010. I am over the moon and I haven't even met him yet. Mother and baby are doing great!

Tired, dreams, tired

God I'm exhausted. I'm actually looking forward to cleaning... Um...what? I feel disgusting and sticky from the heat and the lack of lunch (unless a cupcake counts as lunch?) and I really need to move the clothes over to the drier. Inlaw visit on Saturday that lasts for three days. Then another day off, and then, finally, work.

*

I keep having dreams that I am pregnant and that it feels like I've been carrying the baby around forever, but it's still not at full term. Last night, the dream baby was still alive and kicking and everything was okay, but I had a biatch for an OB who was making inappropriate comments and sent me to buy her a cookie from the food court. I hated her. But every time I laid down, the baby weighed on my stomach and I couldn't sleep. The dream ended as I was in the middle of looking for an emergency room...I wasn't sure if I was going into labor or there was just something wrong with me.

I was thinking about that dream in the shower this morning afternoon. The message of the dream fell upon me like a ton of bricks. A ton of comforting bricks.

*

I like visiting friends. I like visiting family. I like having friends visit. I like having family visit. I'm not sure how I feel about all four of those things happening in the span of one week. I need to go lay down.

Too many hands to count.

I did my run yesterday! I'm soooo proud of myself. It was actually a walk/run switching off every 100 meters (or about 1 city block).

On the other hand, I did not get my lazy behind out the door and over to the social security office so I could get a replacement card, so I could get a new drivers license, so I can drive down to Virginia tomorrow without having to worry about the legality of my being behind the wheel of a car. Looks like my trip home will involve $10 and a wait in the "replacement card" line at the DMV.

On the other hand, I did make arrangements for T's birthday evening, which (if all goes according to plan) will involve delicious food, a bottle of wine, good friends and an evening at the cinema (or "big tape" as T calls it).

On the other hand, I'm broke, so I couldn't buy T the present I wanted to get him. I would write more about that, but on the (very) off-chance he reads here before the end of the night, I wouldn't want to spoil anything ;)

On the other hand, I will be starting work soon and getting the paycheck I so desperately need.

On the other hand, it's work study funds. So, in other words, not much.

On the other hand, I have been kicking butt at this cash-flow report which tracks all of our income and expenses. I love love love to do it. Maybe because it gives me a badly needed sense of control over an area of my life (ahem, $$) that appears to be bleeding out while I stand helplessly watching.

On the other hand, yeah. Money.

On the other hand... love. Love is playing cards for hours around the kitchen/dining room/living room table, listening to weird Swedish country-western music and laughing at one another. Watching a documentary on art in advertising on the Wii. Sharing a fake ham and avocado sandwich. Making the bed. Messing up the bed. Waking up early to make breakfast. All those little things that make me forget about money. It makes up for the other hand.

Ahem. On the other hand, speaking of love, I need to go clean the kitchen before T gets home.

The petulant child & the sulking casebooks

You can't make me. Nobody can make me.

That's what the small child in my head seems to be pouting loudly at every responsibility thrown my way, over and over throughout the day. I swear the only reason I made it to class on time this morning is because I thought I was going a half-hour late.

Right now I am just so resentful of law school and all the endless nagging responsibilities it entails. "Write me!" demands the paper due on Tuesday. "Make me clever!" comes the cajoling voice of my cross-examination for tomorrow's mock trial. "Hey, don't forget about us over here," my dusty old casebooks cry from the corner of the living room, where they've gone untouched for days upon days (weeks?). Ugh. Leave me ALONE!

I determined that there are only two times I really don't feel stressed out or annoyed at the albatross necklace that is law school: 1) When I'm at work, where I feel like I'm actually producing actual product and being clever and there's a point to all of what I'm doing. 2) When I'm defending a motion or doing a cross examination for my trial ad class. (Not to be confused with preparing for trial ad class, which I don't do.) These are the times I feel pleased with myself. Otherwise, I'm just really effing annoyed or burying my head in the sand with Super Mario Wii, in which I've worked my way up to Level 7 of the Star World.

I'm mad at law school, and I wish law school would just get mad at me back and decide that I'm not worth it, and leave me alone. Grr.

Oh, Jon Arbuckle

Garfield Minus Garfield

Today, I finally refilled my Prozac prescription. While I was at it, I also bought myself a little mini-notebook and a 20-pack of blue ballpoint pens. I slept through my first class today and had no excuse for it, except that I couldn't drag my ass off the couch. I haven't had that bad of a mental health day in a long time. Funny, then, that filling my prescription is like an automatic "feel good" ticket. Without even popping the pill, I already feel better. It's the whole empowerment thing, I think. Knowing I'm taking care of myself.

I don't usually feel this bad after going off of my medication. I think it's a combination of the gap in medication, PMS, the encroaching finals season, law school burnout, my parents' health problems and panic over my upcoming 29th birthday. Anyway, one foot in front of the other.

(I am trying to ignore the little voice in my head that says I shouldn't bother to blog, because I am just coming across as whiny.)

Grumble, grumble...

I waited until precisely 7:45 p.m. on Monday night to begin the assigned "re-write of a Supreme Court decision in light of recent developments in the law" that is due tomorrow morning at 10:00 a.m. And by "begin" I mean starting to figure out which SCOTUS opinion to re-write and why and what the hell I'm supposed to say. Not begin writing.

Thankfully, it's only a draft due tomorrow. I get to re-write my re-write before it's graded. This is the last one of those softball assignments though, so I need to thinking a little ahead.

Seriously, this is NOT NORMAL for a 2L without a summer job to be doing, right? I mean, what is wrong with me. I feel fine, for the most part, but I just don't want to be doing all this work. During the day, when I'm procrastinating or trying to talk myself into getting back to business, I have little conversations in my head about why I'm slacking off. I wouldn't call them pep talks. I'd say they are more like therapy sessions.

Me: "Why are you so obstinate, JE? What happened to you?"
Me: "I just don't want to work."
Me: "But why? You were doing so good! You even made Deans List the last two semesters."
Me: "Yeah, so maybe I'm a genius. I don't need to work that hard."
Me: "You're a cocky sumbich, that's for sure. Get your act together!"
Me: "But I'm mad. I don't want to."
Me: "Why are you mad?"
Me: "Because I don't want to have to do all this work. Why should I have to?" *pouts*
Me: "...Because you signed up to go to law school. And some thing about having a good career for your future family and being a good role model to your future kids."
Me: "Yeah."
Me: "Yeah."
Me: "I'm going to get a cookie from the 24-hour cookie truck."
Me: "Wait up!"

Question

I get my best writing done at the last possible minute (quite literally). Is this a good thing or a bad thing?

It's 3:16 and I have to get some sleep so I can wake up and finish up this stupid paper. I wish I didn't squirm like a toddler getting their first haircut every time I sit down to focus on writing.

Oh well. Sweet dreams!

Just tryin' to live

I have never hated being a law student more than I've hated it this week.

But now, at 1:15 a.m., having just powered through 44 pages of civil procedure in just over an hour, I feel vindicated in some small way. Maybe I do have a shred of inspiration left in me. Maybe I can make myself work. Maybe all it takes is a drink in the afternoon, a nap in the evening and a tour of a new apartment. You know? Maybe it just takes going through the motions of a life in which law school does not loom large over everything. In which I'm a normal human being again.

I'm starting to suspect the job search as my source of misery.

Dude, where's my casserole?

I vaguely remember making a casserole last night. I came home from school and the clinic, armed with my Z-pack and fresh box of Theraflu Flu & Chest Congestion, and determined to be a helpful spouse. Since T's mom gave us a casserole dish recently, I'm starting to catch on to the fact that baked dinners require a lot less supervision and consume a lot less time.

Thanks to the ever-trusty AllRecipes.com I found a tasty sounding dinner with all the ingredients I had on hand: broccoli, eggs, cheese and fake sausage. The actual cooking part of it was so quick I hardly remember frying the sausage and steaming the broccoli. Threw it all in the dish and put it in the oven...voila!

It gets hazy from there because that's when I put the tea water on to boil and started watching old episodes of Lost. Within 3 sips of the Theraflu, I was starting to feel woozy. I remember laying down next to T on the couch and putting my laptop on the floor. I remember starting a new episode of Lost... After that? Not much.

T must have eaten all the casserole, because the empty dish is in the sink. I must have made it to the bed at some point, because I woke up there this morning. Apparently I didn't have enough energy to take off my clothes, because I'm still wearing my pink hoodie, jeans and all the requisite undergarments. I woke up wide awake at 7:00 this morning, for the first Wednesday since my 8:30 a.m. Wednesday classes began. Except I felt like I was drowning in my own gunk.

With memories of the last time I went to school sick and all the dirty looks I got (two weeks ago) I decided to stay in... again. Why? Why do I, the non-smoker who never gets sick, have bronchitis for the second time in a year? I'm sure certain members of my family would say it has something to do with my lack of faith. I'm just going to drink my sleepy juice and wait for the anti-biotics to do their work.

Privileged to be annoyed by homework

Boo. Back to being sick AND I haven't finished this stupid paper. AND I don't think I'm going to do a good job on it. I can't muster the energy to care (from apathy, not from being sick).

So far the best part of my day has been talking to an old friend from North Carolina. It's funny how even though I am studying precisely the type of law that will affect the lives of my friends down there in the Mexican community, I can't muster up the strength to give a damn about my homework. Maybe instead of blogging, I should be reflecting on the privilege I have of being here and doing this.

"For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more." Luke 12:48.

Deoxygenated

I went to Immigration Law at 1:30 p.m.

Then I went to the Work Study Office to make sure I'd get paid for my work at the farmworker program this spring.

Then I decided that since I was still on campus on a Friday, I might as well go by the school clinic. See about this persistent cough...

Turns out? My respiratory tract is closing up. Turns out? I'm not getting enough oxygen into my blood stream.

So now, I'm on steroids. I'm starting the prescription tomorrow "before 9 a.m." My alarm is set.

I'm so sick of being sick. This is just annoying.

The first shall be last

This is the semester that will not die. My original plan was to be done early, while all the rest of the suckers slaved away during the second half of exam week. It happened that all four of my exams were scheduled during the first week, and although I could postpone some, I had no plans to put off the inevitable. After all, my brother was graduating from college on December 12th, after many long years of equivocating over whether to put forth the effort to get the degree. On top of that, one of my 30 things to do before turning 30 was to get out to Denver to visit him. I was planning on boarding a plane on Friday with nothing but a change of clothes and a fifty dollar bill with which to get my brother hammered.

Then my first exam happened on Monday. I was able to fight off the strong urge to go straight to the bar to drink my troubles (i.e. 1500-word limits!) into oblivion. As any survivor of a law school exam will know, that is no small feat. However, the only reason I was able to stay sober was because I had a date to study with a classmate for my evidence exam, a mere 40 hours away. After we were through, thoughts of the "free slot" exam I had planned to take the next day took on a laughable tone. Instead of studying, I hung up Christmas decorations with T and we watched more Deadwood. Post-Evidence exam on Wednesday, I had all but vowed in blood that I'd be postponing ONE exam until the next week. I was still ready to take on Employment Law on Friday.

Then I remembered rush hour traffic. To be more precise, my friend reminded me that the airport we were planning to fly out of on Friday at 7:00 takes an hour and fifteen minutes to get to without traffic. My exam was due to let out at 5:30. It was postpone exam #2 or miss brother's graduation (and lose out on a bunch of money). I made a beeline to the Dean of Academic Affairs.

So. Flashforward one week and here I am about ready to take an exam at 6:00 so I can come home to cram for my final final exam on Thursday (or, horrors!... Friday??). Thus I am fulfilling at least the second half of the biblical prophecy: The last shall be first, and the first shall be last. May I never secretly gloat over finishing my finals before other law students again.

FRE falling

The CALI website goes down just when I planned my entire afternoon around doing their stupid evidence lessons. Just like that: all my holiday cheer is out the window.

Dammit! Son of a bitch...

antisocial

I am getting ready to head back to my parents place for the second weekend in a row. Last weekend we swang by in order to drop off the dog so we could attend a wedding at the bottom of the state. This weekend I'm actually staying the whole weekend with the parents while I attend a job fair in DC. T is staying the night but then moving onward down 95 to attend to his printing press in Richmond. Instead, I will be accompanied by a classmate, a fellow 2L who I somehow never met until a recent dinner party for latin american law students. She's awesome and I'm glad to get to be hanging out with a classmate who is easy to talk to and with whom I seem to have a lot in common (aside from being "brown").

Yet.

I am not looking forward to this trip. Obviously one reason is that it will involve a lot of networking. Considering I don't even have any interviews lined up (not because I was rejected... I simply didn't realize I was supposed to bid...gahh!!), I'm feeling less than inspired. Another obvious reason for my lack of enthusiasm is the fact that it's nearing the end of the semester and I could definitely get a lot more work done by staying put. However, the worst reason I'm not excited is that I feel this sense of dread about hanging out with other people. Why? I have no idea. I have gotten worse and worse at extending myself out of my comfort zone. It's not that I don't enjoy hanging out or that I'm not sociable. It's just that I get exhausted and anxious about it after a short period of time. A whole weekend at my parents house with someone I don't know that well makes me nervous, like I'll screw something up. Like I won't be able to relax. Is that normal? I feel weird just writing that.

Also, I feel like a terrible 2L because not only did I not do write-on or get accepted for some sort of legal sports team (i.e. trial team), but I haven't even applied for a single OCI. This weekend is supposed to be my big opportunity to find a job, but I don't have an interview. Instead, I'll mark it as the beginning of my great Job Search. If I'm gonna run off a few resumes, might as well make it a hundred. Might as well get a bunch of envelopes and start drafting cover letters. Might as well flood the mailboxes of legal eagles all over Virginia, where I hope to practice after I graduate, and all over Big City, where there's a plausible chance I'll end up for a while after I get the JD.