Monday, May 23, 2005

That's That

I've never been so happy to have turned my back on my parent's religion as I was today. As I stumbled to school this morning with a stack of completed competition essays, I realized that I was done. Those poor Sunday sabbath observers though; they're still looking at two more days of this business (down to only 35 hours or so hours at this point, it goes fast).

That gives me an extra day to think about fall OCI. I guess they're already passing out packets listing the firms that'll be recruiting us in a few months.* I can't even think about this stuff yet. I haven't even thought about the summer job I actually have to start next week. I know I need to buy some ties or something. When I do get around to worrying about next fall, this government recruiter puts things into perspective. In the meantime, total freedom for seven days. There's something spiritual in that I think even my parents could understand.

*To the firm that is only taking law review and top 5%, fuck you too.

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Intermission

I remember the first time I watched the Terminator how terrified I was at the idea that there was something out there that just wouldn't die. You shoot it, it keeps on coming. You crash a tanker filled with diesel fuel into it, it strolls out of the wreckage and flames. You crush it on some assembly line, its little red eyes flash back on. You somehow manage to spank your way though finals, and now it wants you to write-on to law review. At least that's what I thought as I sat crammed into room 401 with everyone else who wants to play writing-competition roulette this weekend.

The week away has been kind of nice. I went to the gym for the first time in a few weeks; and felt as out of place as an old hooker on her first day at her new job as an insurance claims adjustor. I am very, very weak. I looked at myself in the mirror and could see in my pale, yellowish skin and in the dried and caked soy sauce under my fingernails all the signs of someone who's lived in a dank apartment on take-out financed by selling my books back. Needless to say, I am an ugly sight and I'll spare you more details.

Anyway, there's something horror-movieish about the way school just won't die, and as I look over my summer calendar, I realize that between preparing a resume for fall's on-campus interviews and stopping by financial aid for work-study checks, there's just enough going on to keep up the suspense. But I guess that makes sense; if this is a ninety minute movie, we're only thirty minutes in. There's no way you'd kill off your villain in the first thirty minutes --we'd all want our ticket money back.

It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead.