We're alllll gonnnnna diiieeee (or: a bar exam update)

You know that point where it hits you that a HUGEMONGEOUS deadline is approaching and you are sitting there with your thumb up your ass and not a clue in the world with regards to the impending sucktasticness?

I'm there. 

I have 34 days to cram for the Texas bar examination, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to fail. I have no friggin idea what I'm doing. I have no initiative and I'm wandering around without knowing ANY OF THE LAWS. I *know* that I've done some stuff. But I don't think it's enough. I'm good with Contracts, but how about EVERY OTHER SUBJECT?

So today is the day I freak out, barricade myself in my hidey hole, and make suitable plans to study in remote locations where no one can find me.

All the while clutching my stomach, rocking from side to side, and murmuring about how I've been forsaken by my brain. And how WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE......

You tell em, Katniss. 

God help me.

I HATE HATE HATE PACKING

I'm finally moving from my apartment (back into my parents' house until I find a job....fail) and am feverishly packing. I packed for a while during October and the last time I was in town, but left stuff because I didn't know when I would *officially* be moving out. I gave my notice a week or so ago. Then I started packing kinda for real.

Yesterday, my wonderful boyfran and I loaded up my house furniture that I wanted to keep, leaving my bedroom furniture alone (because that shit is new and if we fucked it up, I was going to cut someone). The things I didn't want, we put on the curb. The definition of hysterical? Watching a couple of frat guys claim your old pink particleboard desk. After our first trip, one of my dear friends came over to assist with the bedroom furniture. By seven o'clock p.m. we had moved all my furniture to my storage unit.

This is after actually cleaning up the living room. 

The rest of the house, however, is a joke. There are dustballs everywhere and I woke up this morning barely able to breathe. My dogs also made this trip with me after being MIA for several months (bf was starting to get pissed that he hadn't seen them). Crackers is sullen, having been pulled from outside where she can eat whenever the hell she feels like it and run around doing things that are generally looked down upon in my household. The second dog, Rosy, (who used to be an outside dog) came inside and told me she's never going back outside EVER. Except to pee.

So now I'm alone again, packing up the rest of my shit and wondering if I would actually miss anything if I just were to throw it all away.

I don't think I would.

I assure you this is a lot more shameful in person. 

No...really.

"When you're getting ready to launch into space, you're sitting on a big explosion waiting to happen." --RIP, Sally Ride

I don't mind the plunge. I don't mind the secret dread leading up to a plunge.

What I hate? Waiting after the plunge to see if my parachute is going to open or not.

And that's where I am with regards to the bar exam. By my calculations, I have 19 days before I figure out whether or not I shall crash into the ground or somehow float in a clumsy landing that doesn't involve me spending my 25th birthday wallowing in a pit of my own misery.

I've spent the last couple weeks on an extended vacation. First, Branson with my family. Then a cruise with my boyfriend and his family. But now, I'm stuck waiting. This means I should probably pick up some old hobbies I gave up while preparing for the bar.

Like working out.

And giving myself manis/pedis (because my tootsies are looking BAD).

And deep cleaning my house.

And preparing eleventy billion job applications, most of which I will not receive a response to, and the rest that will end up stringing my along or summarily dismissing me with a rejection letter (which is better than the aforementioned silence).

Somehow, I don't think this will make the waiting process any easier. Which might give credence to Blog Creeper's suggestion of a medically-induced coma.

Although I just may prefer a tequila-induced haze.

Ten things I'd rather be doing than studying for the bar exam...

I'm tired. I'm lacking motivation. And I'm starting to get my ass handed to me during MPQ multiple choice question sets. It's demoralizing, degrading, and depressing. (Enough with the alliteration.) I would almost rather be doing anything else than this. Like making this chart about things I'd rather be doing than studying:

On second thought, I'd better be getting back to torts. Hope y'all are getting through it too!