On Wednesday I rolled the boulder to the top of the hill. Then, on Thursday the mammoth stone ball rolled back down the hill: right over me. Then, on Friday, I was obviously crushed. These three days evoked an array of differing shades of horrible. The mysterious "will to continue" vanished; no snap of the fingers need apply.
Every day is becoming a burden. Every morning's wake up more difficult than the last. Every night is getting later. I need to move to a place where beds are unnecessary. A place where the sun shines 23 hours a day. Yeah. Ireland make room for a weary law student.
Michelle turned to Megan in torts on Wednesday. Michelle to Megan: "What I need to do is go to sleep, and just not wake up for a long, long time." Megan responded: "I do believe that is what learned people refer to as death." It was at this moment that I piped in. "I am strangely becoming comfortable with death," I quipped back. We law students are sick people. There must be an 'auto-off' switch that is triggered in the brain when one enters purgatory - oh, yes - when law school begins, areas of the organ sitting in the skull become dormant in order to supply blood to the portion of the brain that regulates suicide and the need to be social. The areas that cease working are probably the happy factory - the producer of all that is good in life - and the dumb question authority that would normally tell a person that their question is not only a waste of time, but entirely idiotic.
I like to think that my brain has enough supplies to last until the end of the semester. The winter is rolling in with a iron fist, so I cannot make any promises to the foregoing. I feel like the German Army in Russia: even if I do not make it the first time, I tell myself that the next time will go differently. Somebody should have told the Germans about the Russian winter, they are bad every single year. They were not in a 'if at first you do not succeed…' scenario. Although I am in the same Russian boat, I am a bit more lucky and educated than the twice-failed German army: I have people who remind me constantly that if I think it is cold in New York now, that I am in for a 'treat' when two-weeks pass. Thinking about parting with my sandals makes me want to cry. But then I say to myself: "What good will crying do? Tears freeze!"
On the actual school front, the third legal writing paper has chipped away at my sanity. Ten pages of memorandum is enough to crack the aforementioned boulder. Sadly, the boulder did not crumble. It was so solid that even a crack did not stop it, and we know what happened with the boulder and I. Not a good story.
Thursday was spectacular. It was awesome. It was a spectacular day for the health insurance companies, and an awesomely bad day for me. The move across the country, for some reason, was not compatible with health insurance. I had planned to use the entire afternoon to write the memorandum that is collected this coming Tuesday, but nothing I want happens. Ever.
All I wanted was a Doctor. I needed a specialist. I was in an emergency situation. I needed rescue, and all that was available was FEMA. Basically, I had no help. Nearly seven hours and calls to over 50 doctors later, I was right back where I started: I was at the start, only later. Three calls to the insurance company - thankfully located on the West Coast, giving me more time - and I was no further along than I was when the adventure in doctor finding began on Monday. After playing games, I was assured that I would receive a call by the call-center supervisor the following morning with answers and was made numerous promises - promises that could only be verbal as it is company policy that nothing can be put in paper - that I had no way of ensuring would be kept. I was actually able to make an appointment with a doctor, though I never did receive a call from the supervisor who, like a dramatic spouse, told me that she had not ever lied to me before and would follow through, and in order for our 'relationship' to work, I needed to show some trust. I replied with a semi-giggle and that "I am not in this for a relationship, all I want is an appointment with a doctor. " It seems our 'relationship' was doomed from the beginning.
On top of the Great Insurance Fiasco of 2007 and the Memorandum Meltdown of New York, I was dealing with a Halloween Party. Normally, a party is not a big deal. However, this was problematic because Lindsay (the roommate) and I had decided we would host said party. Oh life! Why did I not look at a calendar?
I am not the biggest fan of secondary holidays (Valentine's Day, Halloween, St. Patrick's Day and the like) and was not thrilled to celebrate the 31 of October this year, but alas, it is a great excuse to socialize and forget about the lack of happiness in my life.
I do, however, live the words of my grandmother: Try everything twice and anything worth doing is worth doing well. I go full force into everything. Nothing but the best, regardless of my hatred of the day. I dressed up in a classic costume, though it had implications that I was not cognizant of until after the body paint was applied. (There would be no women within a close proximity to my face until the oil-based paint was removed. Oh well.) Pictures are available upon request.
The evening was interesting. No other word describes it with more quality. There was very little couch, cushion, and extra mattress space for people to use for sleep. Comfort was at a premium. When the bar visit concluded, we all went back to where the party started (my house) and stayed for the night. Later in the night, I was blessed with the opportunity to clean partially digested pizza and alcohol in the form of regurgitated matter from my bed, compliments of one of my friends. To exact my revenge upon having to clean my bed, my floor and my carpet, I decided it best to give the USC-hating, Reggie-Bush-loathing, Texas-fan-of-a-friend a USC shirt with Reggie Bush on the front. She was surprised when she woke up the next morning.
Revenge is a way of life.
Lindsay set up the party plans and logistics, while I took care of the mass communication of those plans to all who wished to attend. I sent out two emails to those friends lucky enough to be a part of the guest list, both of which were, for reasons I do not know, heralded as a hilariously great break to the recipients day. I attribute them to my boredom and nothing more, but, for posterity, I have pasted the text below for the record and insight into my mind (and week).
I bid the mess of this week adieu. With any luck, it shall soon be forgotten. Fare-the-well.
The previously mentioned Emails follow:
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EMAIL ONE - October 23, 2007 - Details, Details
All-
If you have not yet RSVP'd in the affirmative (Nelson), you should probably get on that. It would be a shame for the people who refer to themselves as my friends to miss out on what will probably be the most awesome Saturday in the history of October 2007. The party will be that good.
Memorandums, reading, pancreatic pains, highlighting, washing your hair, tornadoes and picking your nose will not suffice as an excuse. High expectations, people.
The festivities will start whenever people arrive, and will end whenever people leave. Somewhere in the middle of the party, we will be going to a bar (so I am told). The bar is not too far from our domicile, so Taxis shall be the transportation of choice. Bring a couple bucks for the ride there and back. If you wish to sleep at Chateaus 'H', you are more than welcome. We have couches, mattresses, carpeted floors and other locations (depending on how inebriated I get) for you to partake in slumber. Friends don't let friends drink and drive.
Inasmuch as Lindsay and I would like to think of ourselves as rich, we merely know a guy with that name. Our poor selves can only supply so much liquid joy for the group, so we are asking everybody to bring their favorite water-based party-in-a-bottle to share with the party people, or just me. You do not have to go overboard (unless you dress up as a pirate), but show your enthusiasm by donating.
Costumes are required. If this were any other day, costumes - as well as clothing - would be optional. But, alas, this is a Halloween shindig. If the alcohol makes you want to remove your costume - or clothes - Lindsay approves. However, come dressed as something because those are the rules.We do not make them, we just enforce them. We have been teaching the dog how to attack people with ferocity, and she is ready to bite the ankles of anybody without a costume. Don't test her limits, [the dog] has a temper (in addition to a big bladder).
Questions? Comments? Concerns? Ask Lindsay. When she fails, then come to me.
Yar,
-'H'
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EMAIL TWO - October 26, 2007 - What You Need Other Than Alcohol and 'H'
You are joyful. You are excited. Heck. Let's face it: you cannot control your glee. I understand what you are going through. The best night of our adult lives is about to occur, and we just cannot wait.
You think you have it all: new Gucci sunglasses, a special edition Prada handbag (Nelson has a man-bag), a personalized, autographed picture of Prince singing Purple Rain (complete with the sheen of sweat showering from the body part formally known as his face) and a Civil Procedure textbook. What else could you possibly want?
"Nothing", you say. "My address", I scoff in disbelief.
How are you supposed to arrive at the party of your dreams if you do not have the address? Perplexing!
Well, people: Luckily I have that which you need!
[Insert Address Here]
For more information or more directions when you somehow, without reason, get lost, call H or Lindsay (Not necessarily in that order)
For relationship advice, call Dr. Phil
For a good time, call Justin. (I give no guarantees.)
Peace, love and death to those who attempt to attend without a costume,
-H
P.S. Killer (a.k.a. The Dog) says "Grrr!"
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