Shrinking Violet

Let it Snow

I am listening to Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto #1, ahhh.  It is supposed to start snowing in approximately a half hour, a big snow storm.  I can barely see the mountains right now because they are covered with that big black cloud that makes me happy.  I am trying like mad to decide what to do with the rest of my life.  It's not working, but Friday is the deadline so I have to decide soon.  I missed my Bus Orgs class today to go to lunch with the judge and his clerks.  I am screwed this semester.  I may as well give up now.  I want to crawl in a hole, a little bit, but I'm feeling a little more peaceful today than I have felt of late.  I'm working on a blog post about something other than whine whine whine.  I love the snow because it covers a multitude of sins.  My dad accused me of being a perfectionist last week.  I don't know that I'm a perfectionist, I just like to hide the bad.

Trashy Mormon Romance Novels

Z was chatting with some men at church when the subject turned to Mormon fiction.  Someone's wife loves reading the inspiring and upbeat selection of romance novels available only from Deseret Book. 

I must disclose that I have read a few Jack Weyland books in my time, though not since I was 13.  I think I can safely say that I have not read any Mormon fiction at all since then.  It's hard to describe why I stay away from Mormon fiction without sounding like a snob.  I get a lot of condescending "you must not read much" when I admit that I haven't read any of The Work and the Glory series.  (I also get that with Harry Potter, the Mitford series, and the Da Vinci Code, though.)  I am sure or at least I sure hope that Mormon fiction is uplifting to some, but to me a world that fits into a neat little box seems hollow and unhelpful.  I like the messiness that exists in the world because it more parallels my experience.  I realize that most of the readers of Mormon Fiction  would be appalled by Kunderra's The Unbearable Lightness of Being or maybe even by Arudati Roy's The God of Small Things, two of my favorite books that have some disturbing scenes in them. 

Still, I was a little surprised at which men said that their wives enjoyed Mormon romance novels.  (Of course, to be fair, I am a vacuum of self-absorption to the point that I am surprised when people support the president even though his approval rating is still above 50% in this state.)  It made me feel left out, actually.  Though part of me is glad to not be the stereotype, I sometimes wish I could at least bend to pretend I fit part of it.  I can't though.  Right now, in addition to my school books I am working on The Biography of the Constitution and Midnight's Children. 

Now, just so nobody thinks I'm a bigger snob than I actually am, I am going to admit that this afternoon I am going to drive over an hour round trip to permanently borrow my brother in law's
Tivo so as to not miss a second of Grey's Anatomy, the best, most artistic piece of television art ever produced by the minds of Hollywood.  There's nothing like cheering on two beautiful people committing adultery to make you feel enriched as a human being.

Hot

It's a hundred degrees outside. Project 6:30 evaporated a bit ago, so this morning I got up around 10:00. It was already way too hot to do anything. Z and I went on a walk to get Big Gulps and return Casanova (such the good movie!). I thought I was going to melt. We're probably going to head to the Arts Festival in a little. For the life of me I don't know why the Arts Festival is appealing in this heat but City Creek isn't. Ask Z.

I haven't posted for a while because by the time I get home from work the last thing I want to do is construct a sentence. Work is exhausting, though not as hard as it seemed at first. It's exciting some days and incredibly boring other days. Lunches with MAM continue, and yesterday the MAM didn't get the memo about bringing along a third person. Nice man, but not so much a kindred spirit, so the lunch was, mmm, a little awkward. I hate to write any salient moments because of course someday someone is going to find this site.

Most of my energy outside of work is devoted to trying to figure out what to do next summer. Sometimes I think the DOJ Honor's program would be a good fit, but then I remember who's in charge of the DOJ (Have I mentioned lately how much I HATE the Bush administration?). A big firm would be great for my resume, but I honestly don't see myself living in New York for more than a summer. The ultimate goal is to find a job with lots of interesting work that still allows me to have a life, family, kids, etc. I'm pretty sure I've found that--to the extent it exists--in the firm where I work now. Of course, the Fancy Clerkship aspiration complicates this simple solution.

In the midst of this current obsession, I told Z that at least I'd gotten over the transferring obsession. When I make a decision the obsession lifts. Z said it lifts for like 4 hours and then I discover a new obsession. He accused me (mostly jokingly) of having obsessive compulsive disorder. I told him that I might be obsessive compulsive, but it's not a disorder if I enjoy it.

Contacts

How do people wear contacts? Seriously, I don't get it. I don't understand how people can poke themselves in the eye every single day. I got contacts Thursday and they are nothing but headaches, both literal and figurative. The optician could only get one of them in. I couldn't keep my eye open for him to insert the other one. It took me literally 20 minutes to prove that I could remove a contact so they would let me go home with them. It took me another 20 minutes to put it back in. Oddly, the left eye only took 30 seconds to insert, go figure.

I felt like the biggest dork. I think part of the problem may have been performance anxiety because as soon as the optician let me be to put in my own contacts, things went much more smoothly.

I have now worn contacts for two days. This morning when I woke up, though the headache had worn off, my head was kind of tired from aching so much. I don't usually wear my glasses all day, so I think that has a lot to do with it. Unfortunately, Costco took my glasses hostage (replacing my lenses with a new slightly stronger prescription) so I can't wear them.

My vanity is starting to win out, though, and I think I will be wearing contacts in spite of the sheer stupidity of them, at least to school and social events. My mother always said that it hurts to be beautiful.

Stupid Sunburn

Today I studied outside for six hours. My arms are bright red, as is the area around my collar. I am tired. But I feel pretty happy because, sunshine. Tomorrow I have my Criminal Law exam from 8:30-12:00. Three and a half hours to determine who is the smartest of them all. I know that is a bad way to look at it, but our class is stacked with smarties, and I desperately want to be number 1. This seems harder now that my arms are crispy. I put aloe on, though. Hopefully that will solve the problem.

I feel myself draining, losing steam, in a way that I didn't feel so much last semester. Of course last semester at this point I was quite ill, so maybe I'm not recalling last semester with the clarity of thought necessary to make an accurate comparison. All I know is I feel a little lazy and a little complacent, and a little eager for this all to be over.

Yesterday I planned our vacation for after law review write on. It sounds, well, perfect. We're going to go to Zions, Vegas (only for one pool lying day, since I think Vegas is one of the most profane places on the planet) and Lake Mead. 3 nights of camping and 2 nights of lovely nice hotel. Now, instead of concentrating on Property, Criminal Law, and Legal Archeology, I just can't stop thinking of which swimming suit I am going to buy and which stores I'd like to shop at and how tan I'm going to be. I need to stop. I will not win the race of the smarties with an attitude like this. And I will be mortified if I get even a B+ in Criminal Law.

Video Store

My least favorite weekend activity is a trip to the video store. I'd rather watch crappy network TV than wander around Hollywood trying to agree on a movie. It's not that Z and I disagree entirely, it's more that neither one of us wants to be responsible for renting The Tailor of Panama, Closer, or I Heart Huckabees,  movies that were pointless and profane (though the Damien Rice song from Closer is one of my favorites, so at least there's that).

There are some genres that we will never agree upon. All movies in the animated category are completely out because they tend to be soporific and I hate movies where animals talk. Zach likes them because of the computer animation and the "funny" stories. Funny is relative. Most of the movies from Sundance are also out because Zach does not see the same beauty in the breakdown that I do. Sad endings usually make me feel satisfied. I hate it when a movie is going down a dark road and then abuses my willing suspension of disbelief to tack on a happy ending. Nobody has to die in the end, unless they do, but the couple does not have to get back together, the child does not have to forgive his parent, and nobody needs to learn tolerance. It is inspiring to me that the world moves on and progresses in spite of the fact that life rarely has a movie happy ending. But Zach, he does not see it that way. Dead heroes=waste of movie to him. This means that we mostly watch mainstream fare. Occasionally Zach will go through a "I'm too good for R-rated movies" stage, luckily not right now, which takes the number of movies in the entire Hollywood Video selection that we are both willing to watch down to two.

Last night it took an hour to decide to rent The Squid and the Whale. We haven't watched it because by the time we got home, we were too tired to sit through it. It kind of falls into that Sundance category that Zach doesn't usually agree to watch. He wouldn't let me get About Schmidt (never seen it, but I heard funny stuff about it this week) too because he said two sad and funny movies were too much for one weekend.

I Hate Harold

My next door neighbor not-a-tenant Harold creeps me out. He's kind of sad, living in an ancient one bedroom apartment that I thought was a shed for the first year we lived here. He's around 60, quite short, a bit stout, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't bathe often judging from the amount of grease in his hair. Maybe the shed doesn't have running water. Usually my heart goes out to people like that. I know I'm nowhere near him in stage of life, socioeconomic class, and mental/health problems, but I can't help but think "there but for the grace of God go I" when I see people like him. I'm not sure if he really has mental problems, but his IQ is certainly quite low. He is sure the world is going to end in the next ten years. He's the one who told me not to go to law school because the world is going to end. He's the one who asked me when I am going to have a baby, to which I replied "that is a really rude question to ask."

He's irritating to be sure, but I can cut people a lot of slack when they are so differently situated from myself. I have a more difficult time when people seem to have the same background and capabilities that I do, but I'm working on it. Anyway, yesterday I was coming home from school, walking from the garage to the house and Harold's upstairs neighbor (the shed has two floors) Loom was out bringing in his garbage can from the curb.

"How was work?" he says
"Actually I'm in school..."
"Well that's really fun." hmmm. fun. fun. fun. nope. though i don't mind reading 500 pages a week, it isn't "fun".
"Yeah, I'm going to be a lawyer." okay so that was probably a stupid thing for me to say but hello, NOT FUN. people cannot accuse me of having fun on my husband's dime!
"That's what I heard. Maybe that's why you don't have babies." my head turned sharply to look at him because i was not sure he said what i thought he said.
"Maybe"
"Well, I hope it works out for you" he replied incredulously. huh, like living in the upstairs apartment of a shed works out for you? he acted like i was an idiot who wouldn't make it through law school. at this point, i knew that he and Harold had been gossiping about me and i was furious.
"I'm at the top of my class, so, so far so good." I spat and closed the door.

Sometimes I'm an asshole. I can't keep a lid on it even when the person talking is clearly uninformed and his lack of information DOES NOT HURT ME. The thing is--the thing being whatever it is inside of me that caused such a profound overreaction to a couple of inconsiderate comments by a neighbor--I'm worried that it's just these people, obviously ignorant of social graces, that are articulating what the whole world thinks about me. Not that it would matter because I'm settled in my decision and it would not be worth being completely dissatisfied with myself and depressed just to accommodate the views of my neighbors. And my bishop, who makes sure I know that he thinks it is weird that I am in law school at every possible opportunity.

I've always wanted to be normal and fit in. Always. And the times when it's actually happened have been kind of rare, frankly. At school, I fit in. Lately at church and around Z's friends I just don't. It's not Harold's fault that he's too stupid to realize that he shouldn't be openly criticizing me or Loom's that he doesn't know not to spread the gossip. I guess it's just easier to be angry with them than with the bishop, who used to be my friend, or his wife, who has barely said two words to me since I started law school, or my mother who won't shut up about how much money I'm going to make as if that is my sole motivation for going to law school. Now, when I'm mad at the way the world is treating me and my decision making capabilities, I can just say "I hate Harold!"

Make Up

On Monday I wore makeup to school. Usually I put on a little mascara and maybe some lip gloss, but Monday I went all out. I got new extra-cakey Sheer Matte foundation and powder from Prescriptives. The makeup lady recommended that I get concealer for "the dark circles and lines" beneath my eyes. She also said that if I did not purchase the $40 moisturizer that I would age prematurely, as it is evident that is already happening. I am v proud of myself for withstanding the pressure to a) smear sample lipstick on her white coat and b) buy the damn concealer and moisturizer.

Anyway, I bought said makeup a couple of weeks ago on one of the suit-buying excursions and I didn't wear it until Monday because I am LAZY. Do you know how long it takes to put on foundation, then powder, then bronzer (fancy brown blush to counteract the corpselike pallor induced by the foundation and powder), then eyeliner, then eye shadow (in such a shade that one would need a microscope to confirm its existence so who knows why I bother), then mascara, then lip gloss/stick?  A long time. And I have to be at class at 9:00 which means getting to school at 8:30 so I can park in the close parking lot instead of the hinterlands by the ice-skating rink. And on days that I don't have to be to school until 10:30 I need my beauty rest until approximately 9:32 which is the last possible second I can wake up, shower, and still have a chance at being on time due to the parking situation. Wow, this is taking me a long time to get to the point.

So Monday I wore makeup to school and three different people went out of their way to tell me I looked good. Two of them asked if I got my hair cut or something. They seemed genuinely puzzled. This was quite amusing and a little embarrassing. "I'm wearing makeup" I would tell them and they would squint their eyes and say "I guess that's it." Yes it is it. Today I was joking around about this with one of my friends and a girl listening said "I noticed you looked really good on Monday too." Perhaps it is time for me to grow up and start putting on make up EVERY DAY???????? I don't know if it's possible. I didn't even put mascara on after Monday because I used up my quota of makeup time.

Fear of Falling

My husband thinks I have irrational phobias. I am afraid of the following: falling down the stairs, being hit by a car, dying while skiing, hitting a deer with my car, getting in a rollover accident on Highway 6, being electrocuted by my blowdryer etc. Most of these fears have a rational basis, I think. For the klutz related fears I like to bring up that I have in fact torn my ACL while skiing, skinned my knees multiple times from falling while jogging, and severely sprained my ankle after tripping on a pine cone.

I can now add to the list falling while running to cross the street on the WALK light that only flashes for twenty seconds every five minutes. Picture this: Me with a disheveled ponytail and the standard sweater and jeans law school attire proudly walking toward the law school in the nick of time for my 9:00 class wearing brand new socks and backless shoes. I look up and lo and behold the little green man is beckoning me to cross the street. However, I am up on a little hill and must run down the steep cement sidewalk if I want to make it across the street in time to dump my books before Con Law. Good thing I've been running lately for exercise, I think to myself. Good thing.

So, although I have a backpack full of two large books, a notebook, and a laptop and an arm full of book the size of three ordinary school books (love that Constitutional Law) and grasping my car keys in the other hand, I begin to sprint toward the crosswalk. Only halfway down the hill in front of the entirety of 8:45 traffic next to the most populated parking lot on the entire campus, my foot slipped out of my shoe, and TIMBER. I went down on my hands and knees, tearing a small hole in a fairly new pair of jeans (luckily I don't really like them and I'm excited to get myself a replacement pair) and in my palm (You'd think my palm would be used to being scraped and punctured by cement. I have a long history of abusing my palms starting in third grade when I fell on a sprinkler head walking back from afternoon recess and had to go to the hospital to get it stitched up.) As I fell downhill, I hit the back of my head with the full backpack. I also threw my Con Law book several feet forward.

Several people looked at me with alarm. I wanted to examine the damage, but I wanted even more to get across the damn street, so I stood up, cupped my palm so as to avoid dripping blood, grabbed my Con Law book and smiled at the students who witnessed my humiliation. I admit I did scour the onlookers for classmates, but luckily there was only one person who possibly could have seen my embarrassment and he is a discreet sort of person who is dating my friend in a clandestine law school relationship so even if he weren't discreet he would have a disincentive to spread the word of my mishap. I even managed to get my hand washed up and my books dumped at my desk before arriving on time for an invigorating discussion on the Commerce Clause (question, all, does having guns in a school zone affect interstate commerce?).

Anyhow, I don't think that the fear of any kind of klutzy maneuver and related subsequent bodily harm can ever be placed on my irrational fears list. Flunking out of law school because I don't understand  how William the Conqueror and Edward the Confessor affect modern fee simple property rights (we talked about this today for nearly a half hour even though there is NO EARTHLY WAY the professor can put it on his exam), possibly irrational, but not death or permanent injury via publicly humiliating accidents.

Sundance, Keys, and Other Worries

Today got off to an auspicious start when I spent 20 minutes looking for my keys. I got up right on time and was ready to go with enough time to try to plow through some of Marbury v. Madison for Con Law. I put on my cute Banana Republic casual khaki blazer and my gray hooded pea coat, threw all my stuff in my backpack and went downstairs. No keys. No keys on the counter, the kitchen table, the desk in the office, the futon, my bed, yesterday's coat, yesterday's pants, the bag of Bath and Body Works soap I bought yesterday, Zach's pants, Zach's jacket, under the counter, by the cat's food, next to the refrigerator, in the back door, on the coffee table, on the entry table, in the front door, in the downstairs guest bathroom. I called Zach, who couldn't tell me anything. In the mean time, the chances of me reading Marbury vs. Madison had completely waned as the chances of being late for Con Law. I suspect that God was probably punishing me for a prayer that was preceded by shitshitshitshitshit (that's a non biblical swear word, as someone once pointed out to me). All this running up and down the stairs and out to the garage once was making me quite hot, so I took off my pea coat. There was a small bulge in my blazer pocket. It clanked when I touched it. My keys.

In my continued endeavor to waste as much time as humanly possible because I only have 120 pages to read before tomorrow, I logged onto the Sundance site at my appointed time to buy tickets. They have the slowest server on the planet. Like dial-up slow. I got an awesome screening--Saturday night at Sundance not any stupid Salt Lake screening. I instant messaged Z, who responded quickly, and then I sent him another one about our final selection. Fifteen minutes later he sent a message that he was busy and to decide myself. Fair enough. But my awesome selection was ALL SOLD OUT! Now we are going to a documentary about Mexico--luckily still a weekend evening in Park City--and a lame looking Tim Robbins movie playing at Rose Wagner. The director probably won't even come to that one, which is the only reason I'm willing to pay $10 a ticket to sit in a subpar theater to watch a movie that will likely be available on Netflix in the next year if it's any good. It is totally totally awesome to listen to a director talk about her/his movie. Anyway, it took an hour to not get cool tickets.

In spite of my obviously deep desire to not do any homework since it didn't seem to do me any good last semester (regardless of what my grades are, I think if I would have studied half as much they would have been the same), I still have not managed to make myself change into running clothes and descend the two staircases to where the treadmill sits. That's right, it would take me five minutes to get ready, and I still haven't done it. Too busy looking for keys, buying Sundance tickets, posting on my blog, watching Friends reruns. Besides, I don't have time to run because I really need to finish Marbury v. Madison.