Mental Rehab Post #25
Sometimes there are no excuses. You have to stand up and do those things that have to be done, make those moves that have to be made, damn the personal cost. And so this weekend when the nightlife was running hot and my alter ego was rolling his cage back and forth I did what had to be done. I studied.
And it's come to this?
These weekend updates have gotten way easy since I stopped doing anything.
My sole weekend adventure was in the form of joining the hunt for fuel on Friday night, as in Atlanta we have the weirdest little gas shortage going on. Due to an EPA restrictions, the city of only gets an ultra clean low sulfur summer gas (with gasititve additives and a twist of lime) but due to the Hurricanes in the Gulf earlier this year that special blend is in short supply. So everyday in Atlanta the good folks get together and re-enact the the scenes of cars waiting for gas you see in those pictures from the 70s.
I had tweaked it down to the fumes even with limiting my trips all week, but live on the Westside, work on the northwest side and go to school downtown, so I can only do so much.
Friday night, with the hand three microns above empty I set out. All total by my count I passed about thirteen gas stations, only one of which had gas where I actually waited in line for 15 minutes before giving up (the line hadn't moved) before I found a gas hideout. Or a fuel oasis, if you will. Oh there was line, but it was maybe a five minute wait. Five minutes. And no limit. Yes, in parts of the city they limit you, which is kinda screwed up since it means you'll just be back in line sooner.
So with a full tank of gas and memo to write, the only thing that could happen did.
Of course, my sinuses closed up. I mean like completely. No air. So I eke out the outline and general gist of the arguments I want to make before breathing through my mouth and the constant drool make me stop, take two night time Comtrex and pass out on the couch listening to the Direct TV's jazz channel labeled Watercolors, which is like jazz without the edge. Elevator music. Good elevator music. I have to apologize to Schmoopy's whose birthday party I missed on Friday.
I wake up Saturday and get at it. I don't go to the FAMU-TSU game.
I wake up Sunday and get at it. I dont' watch the Cowboys-Redskins game.
My outings when they come are brief. I see Spanky for the first time since she's been in town for all of thirty minutes over a late breakfast at the Waffle House, which by the way I think I'm about over the whole WH experience. Then I'm back at it. I see Shade briefly and find out she's joined the Army Reserves, so suddenly I'm in bizzaro world as earlier this week in one of many phone conversations I find out her little girly ass played Rugby in college and now this. And then...I'm back at it.
My memo, in my humble opinion is brilliant. And by that I mean I copied as much as I could from the good memo the prof gave as an example. A momentary scare when I printed it out as the spacing was wrong I was about to browbeat a computer into submission, but I fixed it.
I'm down to writing these blog posts at the office when I get some spare time, because when I'm home it's all about the books. I don't think I studied as much in a year of undergrad as I have in the short time I've been in law school. And that's scary.
Barkeep...three black coffees and a shot of Wild Turkey. What? It's what Einstein would drink!