It begins

I started my job today. Weird. Some people that used to work there are gone. Others are new. People have moved offices. But other than that, not much is different.

I have hours at the office, where I am paid to do work. Then, I come home and I don't have to do work. Today, "work" involved filling out a bajillion forms and figuring out how to login to a million different accounts. Someday, work will involve stress and tasks that are too complex to complete in the allocated time. Despite my best efforts, I will probably bring them home and take them with me when I'm "not at work."

But not today. Today was a fresh beginning full of possibility. And it's been a long time since my time was worth money to others and I didn't feel like they were bribing me. Somehow, the rest of my time, which I chose not to sell today (there were no buyers -- first day!) and took home with me tonight was all the more precious. Mine. Gloriously all mine. It was a feeling I haven't felt in years, and most certainly not one I've felt in the last 6 months.

I can't wait to read another book in my spare time.

Familiar Territory

Saturday, I wanted dessert.

But, since we haven't been home for 6 weeks, we didn't really have ingredients to make anything in the house. All of the perishables had long since been banished. No cream. No milk. No eggs. It's kind of hard to bake dessert without eggs.

Or so I thought, 'til I had the awesome thought of: RICE PUDDING. I looked up the recipe in my trusty HTBADG and was pleased to find instructions like, "throw in the muscat (much as you would wine in a risotto)". Ah-hah! Rice pudding is like risotto, not baking. You can experiment and estimate and it doesn't go limp and die. Instead it'll turn out fine. So, in celebration of a delicious dessert, cooking in my own kitchen for friends, and improvising with the random bits I found in the pantry, I present:

Rice Pudding From the Kitchen Without Perishables

1 can condensed milk (replaced the 2 1/4 cups whole milk)
1 can coconut milk (replaced the 1 1/4 cups heavy cream)
Slightly more than 1/2 a cup of sugar
Slightly more than 1/2 a cup of sushi rice (didn't have arborio)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter (keeps in the fridge, thankfully)
1 - 1.5 cups of sherry (replaced the muscat)
nutmeg and cinnamon (replaced the fresh nutmeg)
1 capful of vanilla (why not?)

Preheat oven to 300F. Melt butter over medium heat in a casserole dish. Toss in rice and coat for a minute or two. Add sherry and cook down. Add condensed milk, coconut milk, bring to a low boil. Mix in sugar and vanilla. Remove from heat. Sprinkle nutmeg and cinnamon on top. Bake for an hour or so. Could probably stand even longer in the oven. Remove from the heat and let cool/set. Serve in bowls with spoons. Mmmmm...

Two things I did that were smart

1. I bought the double issue of People entitled "best dressed." I had ample time to whip it out over the last couple of days while sitting in banks and waiting for clerks to verify that all the estate paperwork was in order. Yay adorable clothes. Boo 2.5 hours to close and transfer a bank account.

2. I don't really enjoy shopping, so I tend to do it on-line for immediate needs and once or twice a year for the big closet upkeep. Unbeknownst to me, I decided to use the birthday gift certificate that E's parents sent me for Ann Taylor during their "wardrobing event." Apparently, twice a year AT sends out invitations to certain AT shoppers. When you go in, they bring the clothes to you in your size while you wait in the dressing room. "Do you like this or this?" My girl was very good at figuring out my preferences from my rejections and made a few recommendations I wouldn't have tried that I ended up buying. Plus, if you spend money during the event, you get discounts up to 25% depending on how much you spend. Better service and lower prices? Count in me.

So, I spent less than I normally do on the big shopping trip, only hit one store, and now have a decent wardrobe of winter/fall work clothes (which I needed since I haven't worked in the winter since I externed for the judge during 2L). Woo hoo!

Good News, Bad News

Ahhh... my life is pseduo-normal today. I spent the majority of the day sorting through estate crap, writing up and filling out legal documents, researching tax crap and reading, reading, reading. I even made homemade italian dinner from scratch (which was particularly impressive given the bare state of our kitchen cabinets!) But, at the end of the night, I had to admit that something had gone wrong.

After almost 2 years, today, I finally managed to kill my widget (aka the Garmin Forerunner 201). I recall the documentation saying that it was waterproof. Something about 30 and 1. Like 30 meters for 1 hour. Or 1 meter for 30 minutes. Or something. Whatever, I took it in the water whenever I went after a run and it was great -- it even told me how far I swam.

But, it has exposed copper at the junction to the charger. So, really, I should have known better than to take it in the ocean even once. Salt water and corrosion, yeah I recall something about that from my materials science class. Instead, I dunked it in the Pacific and the Atlantic from California to Australia, not to mention from Mexico (3 times) to Hawaii.

Unfortunately, the battery doesn't want to hold a charge that well after this last bit of vacation. D-E-A-D upon arrival. But I charged it like crazy upon return and went for my run this morning. It seemed to work, but then, well, it kind of made this *screaming* noise when I try to turn it off. Apparently, it now screams 'til it's no longer charged.

So, yeah, its time has come. But it was easily the best $120 I spent in the last 2 years -- the return on investment was ridiculous. So I just figured I'd just get a new one.

The good news:

Thanks to my new buddy John Sun, I will be buying an upgrade. Garmin Forerunner 205, here I come. John addressed so many of my concerns -- the form factor (it's more comfortable!); the accuracy (it's an improvement, which is much appreciated, E and I lost the sattelites in the trees on our hike up the sleeping giant and I couldn't say with certainty whether we were near the top or not. This did not go over well since I didn't bring the water and the cloud cover wasn't cooperating for what was later termed, "the death march.") Anyways, back to the 205, the web-interface software with mapping and training capabilities has advanced substantially since I last looked at it. Add USB synching and well, I'm excited. I feel like I may be returning to a life where I have hobbies.

Ahh, the sweetness of tech gadgetry to pursue a hobby (here's to hoping that I may be able to continue in this vein once I am a lawyer).

Stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe...

I think I forgot about the breathing part for a while back there. Thankfully, the beauty of Hawaii reminded me that I needed to take some time out.

Sure, I'm back and already overloaded with family issues, estate issues, my soon to be start as a proto-lawyer, my husband's new career, the slow crumbling of the relationships that I haven't had the emotional strength to tend to, a stack of bills a mile high, and more.

But, for a week there, after some false starts, I remembered how to chill. Every morning (except one), I slept until I couldn't anymore. Then I ran along the crashing surf of Kauai and Oahu (a different beach each day!). I'd jump in the ocean to cool off. I'd shower and eat to start the day with my husband.

On the most decadent days, the entire day with the husband meant lazing by the pool, listening to the surf, and at times beckoning adorable waiters to bring me another mojito while reading. I escaped via a spy novel, a delightfully trashy and surprisingly feminist paperback drama, and half of a hilarious childhood memoir (that I can't wait to finish). I also need to finish the classic Flatland, which I started and found entertaining until I acquired "Lipstick Jungle." Somehow, maybe because Candace Bushnell is that entertaining, or maybe it was the help of the mojitos, but regardless of how, I managed to completely forgot about the math book 'til the plane ride home.

I also enjoyed meals with E. I enjoyed time *alone* with E. I enjoyed myself.

While Mexico was great, it was emotionally draining to be doing my Dad's favorite activity with my siblings. It was necessary and fun, but it felt more like a stepping stone in the grieving process than a vacation. Hawaii, on the other hand, actually did relax me.

Good thing, too. I think I might have been approaching the "too wound up" state. The about to implode from the pressure state. I could feel it on the horizon. It was scaring me, keeping me up at night, making me worry and work hard, every moment. The horizon, it turns out, is much prettier when it's just surf.

And now, my friends, I return to the long lists and responsibilities from which I needed escape. But I do so tan, relaxed, and broke. One of the interviewers for OCI told me that no matter what else I did, I should be sure to show up for my first day of work as a lawyer broke and tan. I am happy to say that I will be doing so.

And the take home lesson is: No matter how hard I must pull, let me please remember to breathe, no matter what.

Flashback

Eddie Murphy raw is an excellent sample of the 80's. His act includes pop-culture references of the day. His purple leather suit and black finger gloves... damn.

And of course, the fashion in the audience. Wow. Vintage 1987. Amazing.

Okay, I fell asleep 1/4 of the way through. That's why I have not much to say about the actual content. E told me it was funny but not hilarious.

I was exhausted last night. My sister, brother and I packed and moved my Father's house this weekend. My sister had been living there so we moved her as well. Plus, there were extended-family drama/issues that we needed to discuss. By the end of the weekend, everyone was physically tired, emotionally drained, and pretty sick of one another. But it's a big relief to have it done. In a week or two we won't be sick of one another and we'll be able to hang out without the weight of Dad's stuff hanging over our heads.

Soon, very soon, I will have a pseudo-normal life. I will go to work. I will come home and cook dinner with food that I bought. I will sleep in my own bed. I will have a regular work out schedule.

Redistribution

The weight of the world has moved, at least partially, from my shoulders to my stomach and butt. Vacation. You didn't do it right if you don't gain weight. That's what I always say.

A week in playa del carmen was just what the doctor ordered.

We spent two days in an all-inclusive resort in order to stay at the same hotel as sister and brother. Weird, but fun, and glad we experienced it. Instead of the frat party we feared we found a 20- and 30-something Euro-American party. Made lots of friends. The all-you-can eat food and drink were approximately the quality you'd expect -- not so great.

We spent the remaining time in one of 6 condos in a small building in downtown PDC. The star of the vacation was the outdoor shower on the balcony. E probably took 10 showers on the hottest day. I wasn't far behind him in number. We'd get wet, dry off in the heat and stare at the lights of Cozumel over the ocean while listening to the surf.

Deep sea fishing was wonderful. It's powerful: the ocean, the storms, the fish (I caught a barracuda and an darkfin jack), you, and the wind. There's not much space for stress. I can see why it was one of my dad's favorite things to do.

We also spent one day driving around Quintana Roo and Yucatan. Toll roads through the jungle between Cancun and Chichen Itza? $23 US. Open roads back via Tulum -- no tolls, a bit more time, but much more to see including many mayan villages selling their wares. Unfortunately, chichen Itza was closed to the climbers on the day we were there. But, it was probably for the best since it was a billion degrees and 1000% humidity. Had we climbed, we probably would have been the next sacrifices to Quetzalcoatl.

Another day, we took the ferry from PDC to Cozumel. The ferry was much more modern than the last time I took a ferry between Oakland and San Francisco. We expected Cozumel to be horrifically touristy and over-developed. We were surpised to find that the majority of the island is undeveloped and that the downtown is fairly small. We found that PDC was much more bustling and tourist-laden than Cozumel, which was counter to what we'd heard from previous visitors. During our vacation, I spoke to several people who live and work in PDC and apparently it is changing at a very rapid pace. The bartender at one of the bars told me that you wouldn't recognize today's PDC against the one of 5 years ago. The women who did my manicure at the spa told me that she didn't know the population of PDC, but that it was shrinking every year and that soon she wouldn't be able to afford to live in town despite growing up there. What was particularly striking to me was the amount of private, all-inclusive, compound/resort developments. They have guards. You check in. You experience the resort version of Mexico that they provide you with, and you leave. You may not give any money back to the local community if you make all of your purchases at the resort.

Mornings when we had nothing planned, I'd do my favorite thing: run in the sun and then jump in the ocean. E would also do his favorite thing: sleep. Other than that we ate and we were lazy. We took lots of balcony showers. We read. We learned about the hurricane after it decided not to hit us. In short, vacation.

Finally, because I live for food, for those who are interested, I present my favorite meals:

1. The barbacoa shack just outside of Cancun city on the 385(?). E2 had raved about barbacoa for so long that I just pulled the car over. I think sister and E were a little scared by the shack and the lack of menus, but they were polite and waited to pass judgment. We navigated the all verbal menu and ordered barbacoa tacos, nopales and beer. We received a soup that was to die for and two tacos of heaven each. The nopales were raw, so we erred on the side of safety and didn't eat 'em. (FYI: Another surprise was that driving through downtown Cancun, away from the beach resorts, felt much more like Mexico than navigating the ever-expanding euro-american town of downtown PDC)

2. The hole-in-the wall taqueria outside of PDC center that we found with our new-found Belgian food-aid friend. E probably got sick from the Chorizo tacos since the next day he was a little rough, gastrointestinally-speaking. But, he said it was worth it. I had a stuffed potato (beef, chorizo, cheese, fresh cream instead of butter for some reason and chives) and it was heavenly. I swear, Mexican taqueria food is my favorite food in the world. Good thing I live in California.

3. The Italian-run restaurant just outside the front door called "La Siesta." I stopped in for take-out the night after E got sick from everyone's number one restaurant recommendation (La Cueva del Chango -- if you think the Tuna's bad, it probably is). I chatted with the manager and he recommended papas al horno y sopa de verduras. He was friendly and helped me with my spanish while I waited for the food. E was better the next day. As a gesture of thanks, we went back on our last night. The salsa was this wonderfully Italian take on salsa: it tasted like cooked down tomatoes, spiced with oregano, and pureed with habaneros and olive oil. It was amazing on the chips. We chatted with the manager again and ordered pizza and grilled octopus. Yes, it was Mexico. But the Italians just do the best damn food -- so we compromised, I had a "mexican pizza" and E had grilled octopus, which we decided was a local catch even if it was prepared in the Italian style.

4. The gazpacho and margarita lunch we had on La Quinta at 2 PM one lazy afternoon. It was siesta. We were the only ones in the restaurant. We watched the town slowly wake up and come alive. The tourists took to the streets and we listened to the melodious mixture of Italian, French, Spanish, English, German and Northern European languages. Then we went home, took a shower on the balcony, and relaxed some more.

5. The "La Parilla" stereotypically mexican grill dinner with brother and sister. Yes, they cater to tourists. But they also make damn good nopales and beef tacos. Arrachera Monterrey was awesome too. But the local bacon-wrapped shrimp specialty in an orange-colored tangy sauce made at the table with tequila, etc. was the winner. Plus, we had tall beers. It was a fun stereotypically touristic experience.

6. Ignoring that E got sick from the Tuna, La Cueva del Chango was good too. The appetizers were amazing. We were prepared for it to be our favorite meal. Grilled curd cheese in olive oil with oregano and the habanero cream soup both were crowd-pleasers. But the dinner was a bit of a let down after that. Just okay. Except for E, who got sick. Plus, there were many bugs that ate sister and E alive. Overall, just not the awesome experience that everyone promised it to be. But cute, and fun, and if I could do it again, I'd eat nothing but appetizers.

Weight of the World

My life is very heavy right now. Full. Almost bloated. I overflow with all emotions: sadness, guilt, grief, happiness, elation, amazement, and more.

Funerals. Parties. Dinners with friends and family. Good memories of Dad that make me cry. Uncomfortable conversations with extended family resulting from his death and the reality that many more are to come. Time with E where it fits and guilt that there is not more. A new career that begins shortly. A possible passing bar score balanced against the very real reality that I, like many noble warriors, may be asked to attempt to slay that dragon once again.

I leave for vacation soon. It is absolutely necessary. I look forward to my normal, lighter life like a dream. I am excited for its return and hope that I can appreciate it at a level that I never did before.

Homecoming

Tonight, I'm home in my own home for the first night in over 3 weeks after what I thought would be a weekend away. I've got some observations.

I *really* miss sleeping in my own bed with my own husband. I wanted to go to bed and fall asleep immediately upon arrival. Too bad it was 3 PM.

I missed my sonicare more than I would have thought. Just brushed my teeth, and *damn*...

Gangs of New York is the perfect excuse to sit on your own couch for hours on end. Literally. Hours. Like 5. Or, if you are us, and take breaks, 6. Note, much to E's surprise, this is *not* about gangs in New York in the '80s. If you think it is, you will be quite surprised.

The local sushi joint is oddly comforting. Overwhelmingly comforting. It made me cry.

It really is funny how much of a planner I am and how much life goes out of its way to make it clear that I should not be. Yet still, I persist. I'm cartoonish in my stubborness.

Today's Treasures

Today was a productive day. But at the end of it all, I was agitated. Many of the details associated with a loved one's death are painful and stressful.

At 6 PM, my sister and I met my mother for pedicures. I sat there, anxious, while my feet soaked in the water and the chair massaged me. All of a sudden, a feeling of peace washed over me.

I *had* to let it go. I was getting a pedicure. What was the point if I couldn't enjoy it? This is life. If I can't enjoy a pedicure, I'm not doing a good job of being alive. Slowly, with each massaging motion of the chair and with each little bit of work on my feet that transformed them from ugly to cute, I relaxed. I smiled. I was happy.

I was happy I could be happy. Plus, my feet look MUCH better.

I think it is not an exaggeration to say that I had a spiritual awakening of sorts in the pedicure chair today. Silly. But true. I feel more awake. I feel more at ease with the world and all of its harshness. Bad things happen. But so do pedicures.

As a bonus, I made a food discovery. I asked the salon owner if there was any good vietnamese food in my very suburban hometown. Here in whitey-ville, I'm surrounded by friends and family and I'm where I'm supposed to be given all of the stuff I need to be handling. But, I can't help craving the culinary diversity of my more metropolitan life in the bay area.

Imagine my shock when she informed me that there was a new vietnamese restaurant that had just opened and that it was *good*. Sis and I took Mom to experienc pho for the first time tonight. We followed the advice of the salon owner and discovered a delicious vietnamese deli/grocery/restaurant. Still in the euphoria of the pedicure, I savored the whole experience as divine intervention and enjoyed my meal to the fullest.

All in all, I'm finding this process surprising. I find deep sorrow in surprising nooks and crannies where I least expect it. And, I find comfort in equally strange places.

Recollecting Myself

My dad passed away. As per his wishes, we threw one hell of a party. Now, I'm spending time with my brother, sister and E as well as all of the supportive friends and family as we slowly deal with all of the details.

There are many things to take care of, and most of it is very personal and private, so I expect to be fairly quiet on the blogfront for a while.

However, I plan to post about the lighter things to remind myself to relish them, to laugh, and to enjoy life even in this time of pain.

So, the first happy thing I have to post is that brother, sister and I are going on a vacation away from home together for the first time in at least 15 years. (E is coming as well.) We're going to relax, deep sea fish (we expect dad to pull some strings and get us some good fish), and enjoy our memories before we finish packing up all of dad's things and move everything out of his house.

Second, on an even lighter note, E and I made reservations at The Madonna Inn for one of our trips around the state to deal with everything. While there, we will be taking advantage of the waterfall shower in our very kitschy room. Unfortunately, the cave man room is booked 6 months to a year in advance, so we'll be spending the evening in slightly lessor splendor. Regardless, it's going to be memorable.

New Frying Pan

The bar is over.

Daddy is sick.

I'm at the hospital.

He had the stubborness to wait 'til after the bar, after my birthday, and after a good visit where he appeared to be in improving health and we could all laugh together to get sick.

I can't believe how strong the power of human will is when it comes to pushing back the forces that eventually overtake us.

I'm also overwhelmed at the strength of my father's love for me.

I think I'm going to be MIA from blogland for a while.

Bar: My take

I've heard many people describe the bar as an endurance test. I disagree. An endurance test is merely one of length and stubborness. It's you versus something you know and have the will to endure.

The bar on the other hand isn't actually that long. Maybe the studying is an endurance test. But, after 2.5 months of studying, the 6 hours a day of testing and 1 hour of listening to instructions for 3 days isn't that taxing. Sure, it's tiring, but it's not the test itself that's tiring you out.

What is taxing, instead, is the mental warfare. BarBri will succeed in their best efforts to freak you out -- that's how they make their money -- off the paranoia. I hate them. There are plenty of strategies that could help people learn about and understand how to take this test for exactly what it is -- a stupid test of tactics and a little bit of knowledge. BarBri does not teach any of those things. Instead, they will assign you to do things you are bound to fail at, which will freak you out. They will assign too much work and not enough strategy. Your fellow test takers will add to your stress levels with their comments and demeanor as well as the tales of their mishaps. And no matter how serene you generally are, you will wage mental warfare with yourself.

Finally, you should expect the worst because some of it will probably happen. How you handle these things is much more indicative of whether you will keep it together than how many of the BarBri assigned questions you did.

So, for what it's worth, in hindsight, myself and/or people I know would have been better off if we had made the following assumptions:

1. They will start the test late and you will be surrounded by 1800 freaking out JDs waiting outside the doors that won't open. For an hour. With no explanation. In the heat wave.
   



2. Your 3 least favorite subjects are going to come up 1-3 on the first day of essays.
   



3. You will realize halfway through a performance exam that you are doing it ALL WRONG. If you keep your cool, you will have time to fix it. If you don't...
   



4. At times, the air conditioning system will suck, alternatively cooking you and freezing you.
   



5. Some proctors will think it's funny to make jokes like, "how do you think you are going to pass this test if you can't even get the right form in the right envelope?"
   



6. Your computer will freak out and you will have to hand-write.
   



7. You will get food poisoning on the night after the first day and you will puke all night, getting no sleep.
   



8. You will be completely unable to sleep the night before the first day, no matter how well you handle stress.
   



9. You will get in a car accident on the drive home from the bar exam (This one is a serious one to consider. Think about getting a ride. Many of my friends and I were brain dead and had tales of almost causing accidents. One of us did.)
   

This is not a test of anything other than your ability to put up with shit that sucks, a bit of legal knowledge, and your ability to write for people who aren't reading (a skill I'm betting most of us never really tried to develop before). I'd say it's 1/3, 1/3, 1/3.

BarBri and the California Bar would have you believe this test is mostly about the law. They lie. You can get the law wrong and pass. You just have to spot the issues they want you to spot, keep your cool, and get lucky on your MBE guesses and the grader who reads your essays. What a great filter for entrance to the noble profession! NOT!

Of course, if I pass, I'll probably move on with my life without doing a single thing to fight the obviously horrid process and make it better for those who come after me. Life is just too short. Sorry guys.

Thirty

I'm feeling pretty cool. The cops showed up at my impromptu post-bar 30th birthday party.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think this would be the person I'd become. Amused does not begin to describe the feeling.

Oh, and also, the bar sucks. But it's over. More on that shite later. For now, I'm home, still in shock at the idea of having a life again, and apparently, working my way towards being a private nuisance.

Bar: Reality

After 9 weeks of straight studying, even if you've done everything you personally could have done, you did not, could not have, done it all.

So two nights before the exam, I keep studying, but lightly, and I'm doing my best to maintain the confidence that it's going to be okay.

Unfortunately, tonight is where I have to let it go and realize that there is a large element of luck in all of this.

Because all of what is necessary to ensure success will not fit in my brain. So I'm reduced to hoping that the stuff that's in there is enough to be okay.

I think it's healthy to face the demons. I'm glad I'm doing it tonight.

Here's to hoping tomorrow, or at least Tuesday, I'll be back in the zone.

Bar: in the zone

A week from now, I'll be on vacation.

I've just got to go through the motions of studying for 4 days and the test for 3. It's all scheduled except for packing and possibly buying one of the allowed timepieces.

I'm calm. It's the comfortable hyper-calm from sports.

I've never felt this way about an exam before. The forced high-performance calm had previously been reserved for sports where I could break my neck if I fucked up.

I can take the bar exam again. I know this. And yet, my body/brain complex has apparently been put under enough stress in this whole process to think it deserves the same level of controlled adrenaline as competing a trick on your own that you've never done without a crash mat and a spotter to save you.

I always understood how much of a mental game sports were. There were always a few people who were so confident and had so much mind-over-body control that they could return from a 3-month hiatus, 10 pounds heavy and out of shape, only to kick the ass of those who had been in the gym 6 days a week. In diving, the hiatus could be years (water hurts much less than ground).

Why could these bad-asses do this? Sure some of it was raw talent. But one thing they all had in common was knowing that they could do it. Those kids, they had this serene confidence that at times could be more important than preparation and strength. We often thought they were stupid for trying tricks that they clearly weren't in good enough shape to pull. They always landed and grinned.

It's fascinating that the bar is just as much of a mind game as successfully flipping and twisting your body in ways it shouldn't be torqued. It's just contorting your brain to store way more than is remotely comfortable in a way that you can access it all. And believing that a) the stuff is in there; b) you can get to it; and c) when you can't you're gonna fake it well enough that no one's gonna notice.

So my take home point is this: now that we're running out of time to prepare, it's time to believe.

Is this normal?

My mom's husband left me a voicemail this morning. He was somewhat frantic because he couldn't find my mom, didn't know where she was, and was concerned that perhaps something happened with my dad, or, uh... she just left, and, well, he'd called everyone, and, uhh...

Needless to say, when I got the message I immediately called my mom.

She was fine.

Her husband had found her hours ago. He'd forgotten that she'd told him goodbye this AM and she was at the meeting she'd told him she would be attending.

Is this going to happen to me when I get to be their age?

Bar: countdown

1 week from right now, I'll be in the stupid exam.

Thank goodness. It's about time to end this madness. I want my life back.

7 days. I'm so relieved. For me, the hard part is over. I found it difficult to motivate myself to put in the time to finish what I wanted to do for the last few weeks, but somehow I dug deep and managed to get most of it done.

And now, the motivation isn't a problem. This morning, I feel like how I feel with half a mile left on a run and I decide to finish at some ridiculous pace that I can't really sustain. I tell myself, you can do *anything* for half a mile, let's just get this over with. Then I just focus on my breathing, and before I know it, I'm done.

Bar: A pleasant surprise?

A few weeks back, I had to face the fact that I really needed help on the essays, so I ordered some more materials and added some additional essays to the already jam-packed schedule.

Unfortunately, something had to give.

So, I substituted bar essays for training for and running in a gorgeous half-marathon in wine country. This was the second year in a row where I'd paid the entrance fee to that race and then had to bail because life got in the way. (You can guarantee I'll try to do it next year, now it's personal...)

But, I found a way to replace my runs and study by doing walks and flashcards. Initially, I did it alone, babbling out loud to myself, and no doubt making my neighbors certain that I was crazy.

More recently, A and I go together. Every day, we quiz each other, we walk, and we vent. On average, we do about 1-2 hours of good solid review per day. It's a nice way to break up the day. And oddly, stuff seems to stick better with the change of scenery and the physical exertion.

Apparently, it's a nice way to get more exercise than I realized as well. I added up my mileage for last week and was shocked to find that although I only went for two runs, I managed to clock in 33.9 miles on the shoes.

At this rate, I should be on track to be able to run a half-marathon within a few weeks of the bar without any problem. What a pleasant surprise.

Bar: This sucks

I think this is another low point.

I can see the bar coming. It's close enough to have me mildly stressed. It's still far enough away, however, that I'm daunted at the idea of keeping this up for the remaining 8 days. Those 8 days seem very long.

Plus, my dad is still in the hospital and I'm just generally bummed about that. He's slowly getting better, but he's depressed and not as healthy as he wants to be.

I found out through the family grapevine that he got some mildly bad news a few days ago, which he has been hiding from me. Ordinarily, I'm in constant contact with the nurses and I know about his health better than he does. But right now, I can't do the multiple phone calls, the waiting on hold, the sweet-talking of the stressed out nurses. So I'm in the dark.

Even in the hospital, he wants to take care of me. He's my dad.

And I want to be there to take care of him. Being there seems more important than this daily onslaught of cramming and spewing law that wouldn't pass muster in any acceptable legal practice anywhere.

But, he's not in any state where I can do anything for him. I want to go for selfish reasons, to assuage my guilt, and to get away from all of this. He wants me here. Studying.

Like I said. This sucks.