Drunken Revelry Time in 35 1/2 Hours

Today's final wasn't a breeze, but nothing appeared on the test that I had not anticipated.  My grade should be acceptable.

Tomorrow i have an easy final and one that will most likely be the toughest test I take until the MCAT and LSAT. (Yes, it is overkill to take both the LSAT and the MCAT, but I want to keep all options open.)  I am, I believe, adequately prepared for the more difficult final, though one never knows for certain until he or she gets a first glimpse of the actual test. Regardless, in seventeen hours it will be history. I don't intend to study any longer tonight because I can only review so many times material I have already committed to memory.

After tomorrow I still have one final remaining, but it's not one about which I'm particularly concerned.  Out of sheer habit as well as a touch of OCD/.superstition, I'll refrain from going into full celebratory mode until that last final, however routine it may be, has been handed in to the TA. (The test is so perfunctory that  the professor isn't even making a token appearance.)

I'm working as a paralegal next week. My pseudoaunt is trying a case for the public defender's office in our county. I'm not on the county payroll, which is fine because my pseudoaunt pays better than the county does, anyway.  Pseudoaunt had abdominal surgery eighteen days days ago. She's not yet at 100% and may not be even by the day the trial opens, so I will earn my pay.  The trial will last maybe two days, after which I will formally begin my vacation.

And So It Goes

I fell asleep on the sofa very early tonight, and my PseudoUncle carried me to bed. Unfortunately, dear sweet Warren Jeffs decided to pay a visit to me in my dreams again. This one wasn't so violent that I screamed and woke up the neighborhood, which is good, but I'm having trouble going back to sleep. If I'm not asleep an hour after I wake up from a bad dream I have to wake up my PseudoAunt because I will get in trouble if I lie awake all night without telling anyone.

Tomorrow I have an appointment with my surgeon and one with my psychiatrist. I'm not looking forward to either appointment, but at least the most intimate part of my body I'll probably have to display is my mid-section, which isn't all that bad. Where I draw the line is at anything that's covered up in a strapless backless bikini. They practically have to anaesthetize me to look at anything else. This is one of the reasons I think I'm probably not cut out to be a stripper. I will discuss Warren Jeffs with my shrink. I wonder what insights he'll have into the situation. There's not much he can tell me that I don't already know. I'm well aware that Warren jeffs is locked up in texas, that he's not likely to get out anytime soon, and that even if he does escape, he's probably not coming after me. That knowledge still does little to keep the nightmares away.

PseudoAunt's brother, his wife, and their three-year-old daughter are in the area. Today Pseudoaunt, Timmy, and I took the child to the zoo while her parents slept. Her mom is pregnant and her dad is tired from being a first-year-resident. My dad told me that he was never so tired in his life as when he was a first-year resident. It's not quite as brutal for the people currently aerving residencies as it was in the olden days when my dad did his, but it's not good, either. That's one of the reasons I don't want to wake up PseudoAunt -- because it will probably wake up PseudoUncle as well, and he needs his sleep.

I've tried counting sheep, which is stupid. I've tried mentally recreating the periodic table of elements and reciting poetry in my head and solving complex equations. I've even tried singing mormon hymns in my head. if Mormon hymns do not put a person to sleep, that person is in a certified state of wakefulness. Nothing seems to work. If the people in control of my life would just give me one tablet of something that would make me sleep each night, I would not take it unless I needed it. Nine times out of ten I would give the tablet back to them in the morning. They will not do that, however, because a sixteen-year-old, even an intelligent one, is neither mature nor smart enough to know when it is appropriate to take any drug that falls in the class of benzodiazapenes.

So in five minutes I'll wake up my PseudoAunt. She'll wake up my PseudoUncle. Chances are that they'll make so much noise that Timmy will wake up as well. PseudoUncle will give me an Ativan. I could've taken my own Ativan just fine without waking up an entire condo full of people, but that would have made too much sense, apparently.

It's time to wake up the house and start the Ativan party.