Oy.

Days like today are why I decided to not worry about NaNoWriMo. I know the Little Guy HAS to be tired because he has not slept longer than 30 minutes at a time all day, and not for very many of those 30-minute chunks, either.

But he Will. Not. Sleep.

I've finally got him in his crib and more or less calm (no noise from the baby monitor yet) but then we're only at about minute 12 so there's about 18 minutes to go before he decides the world is ending and he must have Mommy NOW. Which I love that he likes me and needs me and all that but that's about 15 hours straight of all mommy mode all the time. (Okay, to be fair, I did get a shower while Shallow Man held the Little Guy and the Little Guy screamed because he decided right after I got in the shower that he needed to eat again NOW even though I had just finished feeding him about 10 minutes before. Oy.)

The punchline of which is: I love being a mommy, but sometimes it means I can't be a good (or at the very least, an interesting) blogger, so this is all you get today.



But at least I did manage to post today for Day 11, right? Maybe if we all cross our fingers and hope very hard, he will start sleeping again and give me a chance to do a bang-up job tomorrow for Day 12. Maybe? :)

Waiting. Impatiently.

Yeah, we still haven't gotten our bar results yet.

But a lot of our friends in other states are getting their results. The good news posts on Facebook keep trickling in.

And my confidence is steadily being undermined.

See, going into the bar I was So. Not. Ready. As in, knew I was not going to pass. Failure was imminent.

Coming out, I at least felt cautiously optimistic, and I've managed to hold on to that feeling of cautious optimism in the intervening weeks (it helped that there have been plenty of distractions as I try to get ready for this impending baby, but that's a whole different "waiting" story).

Now that the moment of truth is creeping up on us (even though I don't know for sure when it will actually get here), that feeling is rapidly dissipating and I am not afraid to say that I am more or less terrified.

So, please, if you see me in the next few days/weeks and I haven't made a big "OH MY STINKING HECK I ACTUALLY PASSED" type of announcement, PLEASE, do not, under any circumstances, ask me any questions about the bar or bar results. Because that will mean that either 1) I still haven't heard back and am falling further into my paranoia and panic, or 2) I have heard back and have no desire to discuss it.

Thank you!


Also, please refrain from posting helpful, optimistic comments on this post, as I know you want to do because you're my friends (I assume) and are awesome and supportive like that. Because people do fail the bar regularly. And telling me you know I passed won't help my panic right now because that will only make me dread facing you later and having to confess that all your confidence was grossly misplaced. Wait to give me the "Well, duh, I KNEW you would pass" comments until I actually know that I've passed. Thanks!

Three weeks.

At a time when most of my fellow 3Ls are waxing nostalgic about this being the last week of classes, probably EVER for most of them, I'm too busy and stressed to be nostalgic. I will be nostalgic later; I'll think about it tomorrow. Whatever you like.

For right now, I'm just repeating my new mantra:

Three weeks. Three weeks. Three weeks.

Three weeks from today it will all be over. I will have my JD. I will not need to write any more papers. I will not need to read textbooks. I will not need to stress about how I keep missing class because I'm still sick the majority of the time.

I will have graduated.

And what's more, I will officially be in my second trimester, no matter which way you count it. Which means, with any luck, that I won't feel so sick anymore, either. I might even have some energy by then. (Of course, I really could use some of that energy now to get through the next few weeks, but that's another story.)

So. Three weeks. Three weeks. Three weeks.

I can do this.

Overstretched and at a loss

My candle's burning at both ends,
It will not last the night;
But, ah, my foes, and oh, my friends,
It gives a wondrous light!

I have definitely overbooked myself this semester. I feel like Bilbo -- butter scraped over too much bread. I really need to cut back on a lot of stuff but I have no idea how right now. How do you tell the people who are counting on you for help that you don't have enough to go around? And who do you cut out first? Because the truth is that right now the light is not all that wondrous -- the wick at both ends is starting to gutter and sputter and pretty soon it's going to just go out completely. (I've had this happen before. My body will, from time to time, just inform me that we've had enough, thank you very much, but since you're not taking breaks on your own it's time for some ENFORCED RESTING. You'd think I would learn eventually.)

It's gotten crazy enough that when my creative writing class (really probably the only thing keeping me from completely keeling over right now -- this is NOT an option for the what-do-I-drop list) assignment was to write a sonnet, the only thing I could come up with was a case brief from my Wills and Estates class. Unconventional and kind of fun, but still a bit too much of an indication that I need to spend more time doing not-law stuff.

Does anyone have a spare three or four hours a day they can lend me?



On the bright side, at least I get to go see SYTYCD in concert tomorrow with my sisters.

Okay, this seriously stinks.

So along with every other load of bricks that got dropped on us, metaphorically speaking, at the beginning of the summer break, our air conditioning broke. (Yup, two weeks after the home warranty expired.) Which hasn't been tooooo much of a problem yet because the weather here in Provo seems to be convinced that it's, say, March or October instead of May and June. So we've been all right while we're waiting until we can scrape up enough money to fix it as long as we leave some windows open.

Until now.

Our little townhouse faces west onto a fence, on the other side of which is a trainyard. So lots of trains going past and making a fair amount of noise, so we try to leave the windows on the front of the house closed. This is fine because downstairs we have a big kitchen window in the back which lets in a lot of fresh air, as well as two big office windows in the back upstairs. These three windows have been doing a good job of controlling the lack-of-AC situation, with help from the fan in our bedroom.

Until my next-door neighbor started sitting on the back step and smoking a few days ago. Since these are townhouses, their back step is approximately 7 feet away from our back step. We of course have a fence separating the backyards, but it doesn't keep smoke out of our backyard. Or, by extension, out of our back windows. Or, by further extension, out of my house and out of my lungs.

Our house is an end unit so we also have two large south-facing windows downstairs, but we try to leave these closed because 1) the air on that side is much warmer and doesn't help the cooling off so much and 2) a road runs right past them which also doesn't help as much with the noise. Aside from these, we have one other tiny window in the upstairs bathroom -- and I mean tiny -- which we keep open all the time but which can't do the job all by itself.

So now I'm faced with several unappealing options:

1. Keep the back windows open and poison my already-gimpy lungs with second-hand smoke.
2. Close the back windows, open the front ones and go deaf from passing train screeching.
3. Open the side windows and fry while letting in car noise and exhaust (best of both worlds, I guess).
4. Leave all windows closed and die in the ensuing stifling heat.

Unfortunately, 5. Fix the stinking AC is not an option at the moment unless some long-lost rich uncle dies and leaves us a lot of cash. (Thanks to the law school for making all the students not work during the school year, then do unpaid internships during the summer and then not providing us with access to any sort of financial aid. Also thanks to the stupid AC for procrastinating and missing that warranty deadline. Oh, and let's not forget the car breaking down, the mortgage company making unauthorized withdrawals from our account, or having our one source of income start bouncing the checks they send us.)

Murphy, you stink.

GAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

Sorry. Just had to get that off my chest. My first final is in about 11 hours and I'm a little stressed. Prayers and good thoughts would be very much appreciated!!!

Thanks!

My life in a nutshell

*sob* It's so true! (Only for "Friday," substitute "every single stinkin'." )

Well, this stinks...

I swear someone cut out about three months of this semester. I haven't even had a chance to post the stories about finals from LAST semester and finals are almost upon us again. Seriously. Not. Cool.

Maybe I'll just do a compilation later with any stories from this round of finals... because I haven't got time to post them now; I'm supposed to be studying.

*whimper*

Even past overwhelmed now...

I probably shouldn't have joked about fish last time, because the day after my last post, I figuratively got swallowed by a whale. Well, actually, I think the whale dropped on me first and then swallowed me, but at any rate, let's just say it was dark and depressing.

The eventual upshot of this is that I am now currently about a week behind in all of my classes except one (and that one is mostly because the professor issued a revised reading sheet because HE was running a week and a half behind). In one of my behind classes this doesn't really matter as much because I've already been grilled, but in the other one (the hardest class of all) I hadn't been called on yet. I emailed the professor and explained the situation to him and asked him to please not call on me for the rest of the week while I got things sorted out.

Well, he didn't get the email.

He called on me today (my first day back in class) and I had to say (in front of 100 people, give or take) that I hadn't had a chance to read that case yet. He moved on to the next victim and I sat there feeling stupid and bright red and cursing modern technology that can't deliver an email properly.

And then we moved on to the next case and he called on me again. "Have you had a chance to read this one?" I just had to shake my head and feel even stupider and bright redder. (Have I mentioned that my own personal version of hell is being publicly humiliated by being made to look stupid for all eternity? Well, that and being forced to watch all Will Ferrell movies -- with the exception of Stranger than Fiction.)

After class I went up and told him I'd sent him an email that morning and promptly started to cry (UGH) from embarrassment and the afore-mentioned whale issues. He apologized profusely and expressed his sympathy and we worked everything out, so I'm, in his words, "fully absolved" and he doesn't think I'm a slacker or anything like that.

But what is still making me squirm (and what will probably make me squirm for several successive four-o-clock-in-the-mornings to come is that now almost 100 people think I'm a slacker. And they don't even know that I had a more-than-good excuse.

Current number of actual recurring nightmares experienced while awake this week: Two.

I guess that's what I get for mocking fish.

My Sweet Sonya

I have often wondered how I would ever manage to sell my car. In my head, I've played over the conversation with prospective buyers many times.



Me: So one thing you need to know is that the gas gauge doesn't work.

Buyer: Doesn't work?

Me: Well, it sort of works. Like it accurately reflects a full tank of gas. And if it shows that you're at a quarter tank or less then you definitely are below half a tank somewhere. But it can be sitting on the "E" for empty and you go to fill it up and it'll still have a quarter-to-a-third of a tank of gas in there.

Buyer: So how do you tell when you're running out of gas?

Me: We usually just go by mileage. If you refill somewhere around 300 miles you should be good. You can just set the trip planner when you fill up. Unless it's not working. It sometimes jams and then you just guess. We've always been lucky.

Buyer: Uh-huh.

Me: Yeah, but 300 really should give her plenty of leeway because she gets about 37 miles per gallon highway.

Buyer: (oozing skepticism) 37? A 1995 Ford Escort Station Wagon?

Me: Yeah, we don't know why but she does. We keep track. (pause) We think it may be that not all the parts run and that conserves power and gets us better gas mileage. It's great.

Buyer: (longish pause) Now, when you say not all of the parts run, what does that mean?

Me: Oh, well, the cooling fan, for example. It only turns on about half the time so I know it's saving power for us. It generally turns on well before you overheat, though.

Buyer: Generally?

Me: Well, yes. It always works except when it doesn't. But that's only happened, what, three, maybe four times since we've had her? We got her less than a week after we got back from our honeymoon, you know, so we know her pretty well.

Buyer: Uh-huh. So what happens when it overheats?

Me: Oh, you won't need to worry about that. She only ever does that within a mile of home -- usually two or three blocks. Except for once when she stopped in the middle of University Parkway. But we were within a mile of the family reunion we were headed to, so it amounts to the same thing. At any rate, if you notice the temperature creeping higher you can always turn on the heater. That works as long as she's moving. Which reminds me, the air conditioner only works if you're going 40 MPH or above. And she doesn't like driving between 50-65 mph, so try to stay either below 45 or above 70.

Buyer: How does that work on the freeway?

Me: Oh, I just speed. The great thing about this car is that you'll never get a speeding ticket while you're in her.

Buyer: Why? Because she doesn't go fast enough?

Me: Oh, no, she goes fast enough -- She'll get up to 90 just fine, although you can't hear the radio then because of the squeaky belt. We don't think it's anything vital so we just let it be. The police just ignore her because she doesn't LOOK like she'll go any faster'n about 40.

Buyer: Yes, I can see that. I think the green bumper on the blue car adds to the effect.

Me: Yeah, that bumper's not original. The other bumper got hit a few too many times and finally fell off. (pause) But that was okay, too, because every time she got hit we got more money out of her. We made back 150% of the purchase price just from getting smacked in the bumper.

Buyer: But why green?

Me: Well, the place we went to couldn't find a blue one and we figured that since 1) my husband is colorblind, 2) it was getting close to the re-registration deadline and we needed a bumper to pass inspection, and 3) whatever bumper we got was just going to get run into again anyway (there was a definite pattern and we saw no indication that it would stop), why bother with the hassle of trying to get it to be blue? You'll notice the front bumper was also beat up and would probably need replacing soon anyway, so we could have just put green on there too and make it match. Besides, it always made the car easier to find in a parking lot.

Buyer: Yes, I meant to ask about that front bumper.

Me: Oh, that was from one of the times we got hit in the back bumper. It bumped us into the car in front and dented up the front bumper too. But that's all the damage from that accident.

Buyer: Oh, so she's been in an accident? Did the airbags go off?

Me: No... They may or may not work. I've never bothered to check. I just trusted to my seatbelt. Which reminds me, the motor in the driver's side seat belt broke so it doesn't move now so you have to manually buckle the shoulder belt and the lap belt. Of course, the broken motor makes the car think that the seatbelt is always unbuckled so we had to put black electrical tape over the seatbelt warning light because it would never go off.

Buyer: So does the warning sound go off all the time?

Me: No, that doesn't work on the driver's side. The relay's messed up or something so the driver's side door doesn't trigger the door alarm, the dome light, the ignition light, the headlight warning noise or anything like that. You just have to remember. You'll get used to it.

Buyer: Riiiight. (Edging away) Well, I need to go home and do... stuff... (breaks into a full run)

Me: (calling after) Wait! I haven't explained about the leaky coolant trick yet!


I always just concluded that I would have to let a family member inherit Sonya or sell her to someone who didn't speak any English.

But that problem has now been solved.



My gallant little car has looked out for her family up to the last. When the little CRV in front of us tried to take over the center lane, causing the SUV right next to them to flinch, overcorrect, and spin wildly out of control across the entire interstate and into our poor little car, Sonya stood firm. When the impact happened, rather than letting the whole driver's side door just move into the driver's seat with me, Sonya said "Thus far -- and no farther." When the force of the impact swung us completely around and back across the two lanes of traffic we had just left in an attempt to avoid the spinning SUV, she stopped us before we hit anyone and kept running so we could slowly back off the highway. She stared the oncoming cars down and dared them to hit us again. They all stopped and let us get out of the way.

Instead of letting the doorpost crash into my head, she crumpled it just behind. The rear driver's side door now sits directly behind the driver's seat, so that anyone with longer legs than me wouldn't be able to move the seat back. The edge of the door is roughly one-third of the way into the car.



You can now see into the car at the bottom of the passenger door. But none of our belongings, piled in the trunk and the backseat since we were on our way home from a camping trip, spilled out or were damaged. (Unless you count the fact that the keys were knocked out of the ignition; but I don't hold that against the poor girl. The fact that the keys didn't really fit properly and you could have started or shut off the engine with almost any key was one thing I also never knew quite how to explain in the fantasy...)

Even when both windows shattered and a fair amount of glass went down the back of my pants, it didn't cut me. Sure, I had to walk bowlegged for a bit until I could change in the ambulance (let me tell you, it's nerve-racking to change your underwear in the middle of the interstate even when you know the windows are tinted so nobody can see in... I'm just glad I had the extra clothes there because of camping), but that was a minor price to pay.

When the paramedics looked at you, Sonya, and said that if they had just seen a picture of you they would have sworn that someone in the car would be going to the hospital, I got choked up because I knew you had kept us from anything more major than a wicked seat belt burn on my neck and shoulder and some cuts and bruises. And that was part of why I was crying, Sonya -- but it was also partly because I knew I would never get to drive my first little car ever again. (We're ignoring the obvious aftereffects of shock here.)

Sonya, you were our miracle car. You had an Elijah aspect about you -- you kept lasting one more day, and one more day after that, when we needed you to. You got better gas mileage for us than you probably should have gotten straight out of the factory. You took us on vacations and helped us move eight times and most of all you kept me from an extended hospital stay or worse. I will miss all your little quirks and oddities -- and I'm strangely thankful that I won't have to try to explain them to a stranger, who may not have loved you as well as we did. Your old license plate frame sums up my feelings for you best: "They're not dents; they're beauty marks."



Rest in peace
Sonya
1995-2007


Note: Of course I don't for a minute credit this miracle to anyone other than God. For about three seconds on Saturday afternoon, when I saw the SUV spin out of control 20 feet ahead of us to the time I saw it heading straight for me, I knew I was going to die. I still cannot believe, looking at the car and at the pictures, that both Shallow Man and myself are not only alive but relatively unharmed. I know that Heavenly Father put his hand out and kept us safe and I only hope that I will continue to feel the awe for life that I do today, and be able to take better advantage of this amazing and precious gift.



P.S. The driver of the SUV was also basically uninjured, although rather shaken, and no other cars were involved, which is another miracle in itself when you consider that we were driving on I-15 at the end of a holiday weekend. I'll keep you posted on the search for a new car, although I currently am enjoying the rental car, a Ford Focus we have nicknamed "Zippy".

Going into the moon's shadow

We're disconnecting the internet and TV tomorrow in preparation for our big move on Saturday and won't get them set back up until Monday.

This is always the part I hate the most about moving (well, besides the packing and loading and cleaning and moving and unloading and unpacking and not knowing where your hairbrush ended up for the next three weeks and having to figure out a new lightswitch system and where the hot spots in the oven are, but other than that...), where we go into blackout mode, technologically speaking. I always feel like I'm completely cut off from the world and that something extremely vital will happen (i.e., long-lost rich uncle dies and the executor sends me an email saying please call within the next 24 hours for your inheritance of three gajillion dollars and if we don't hear from you by that time it will all be donated to the society for the prevention of cruelty to mushrooms) and I won't know about it until later, when it's too late.

So I guess all I can say is, nobody say anything important while I'm gone, and I'll see you on the other side.

Soon, soon...

it will all be over.

Our house-buying entourage should be arriving at our apartment within the next 15-20 minutes for closing. It's almost over. Then the sellers will move to Alaska and I will never have to deal with them again.

We'll be moving on Saturday and then I won't have to deal with moving for at least another three years.

The multiple baby showers for my sister are all over now, so I have a few months' peace before I have to start planning the ones for my sister-in-law.

In a week and a half I meet the rest of my in-laws. Actually, let's not think about that one yet.

Let's just think about how in an hour we'll have closed on our first house.

Yes. That's a good feeling.

Soon, soon, soon.

AAAAARRRRRGGGHHH!!!!

Don't mind me. That loud noise you just heard was only the sound of Ultimate Suffering.

I was going to post something more cheerful, but I'm just too upset right now.

No, no deaths here. But you have to wonder what on earth is wrong with the world when they hire a practically illiterate (brags that he's never finished a book in his life, excluding scripture), has no ability to write a well-crafted sentence, probably wouldn't notice an even adequately-crafted sentence if it danced a polka on his nose, has limited social skills and absolutely no respect for personal boundaries or privacy, quit college to work two jobs full time (one in a call center and the other at Home Depot) person to manage a team of college graduates, all with English degrees (some with graduate degrees in English), whose job is to write letters all day long. Oh, and did I mention he also has no idea how to even begin to do the job he's supposed to be managing?

What really stings is that there was a perfectly-qualified applicant from the team who has a degree, who writes extremely well, who knows the job inside and out, who's been managing the team ever since the old manager left while still doing her own job and excelling at both, holding everything together seamlessly, and who has the respect of all the team members besides? (No, it's not me.)

I don't know if this is due to male chauvinism (hiring the unqualified male over the qualified female), total ignorance of the actual qualifications needed to do the job (the person doing the hiring really doesn't know what the job requires; so why is he doing the hiring anyway? Just one more unanswered question among many...), or just sheer stupidity (the pointy-haired boss system of management, hiring and promotions), but whatever it is, it stinks.

Please cover your ears for a moment while I mutter angry things under my breath. On second thought, you may just want to leave altogether so I can get back to screaming and tearing my hair out...