The Straw

It doesn’t take much to set me off lately. And I got the comforting news that all of my friends studying for the bar feels exactly the same way. This is what goes through my mind when I talk to normal, non-bar studying people:

Non-Bar-Studier (hence forth, NBS): “oh, I am so tired! I had such a long day!”

the Voices in my head: “oh really? You had to listen to 4 hours of lecture do 100 multiple choice problems read 50 pages of outline on an area of law that you will never practice in and figuring out the nuances of what exactly a political question is for 12 hours straight? What’s that? You didn’t have to do that? Well then, you don’t really know the meaning of the world “tired” do you? Huh? Do you? Huh? Shut up!”

Yes, segregating myself from the NBSes of the world is a necessary mean to serve a compelling state interest. Because murder is wrong.

Week three into studying for the bar exam. My body is completely breaking down.

Two weeks ago I discovered that I had tiny blisters on both of my hands. Those blisters have now multiplied and still hasn't gone away. Apparently I've developed some kind of eczema. The cause for this eczema is unknown, although doctors think it's brought up or exacerbated by stress. Great.

Finally went to the doctor, she gave me a cream for my hands and told me to reduce stress; reduce anxiety; not wash my hands; use only hypoallergenic soap; and not bathe as often as I have been. Thanks doc, but I've got to draw the line somewhere.

Two days ago I became allergic to everything. I bought rubber gloves for my hands to protect my hands because I wanted to clean my bathroom. I was allergic to the gloves. Super.

I did laundry yesterday, only to have mysterious red rashes appearing all over my body. I am allergic to my laundry detergent. Super. Duper.

Went to target two hours ago. Bought super comfy pants. Thought that might alleviate the red rashes on my legs. I broke out in bumps all over my thigh. I am allergic to the pants.

What else you got? I think there's still some things left in this world that I'm not allergic to, like oxygen. Bring it on.

Don’t Call Me Honey

My landlady, I despise her with a passion that I have not heretofore experienced with another human being. I have no idea why I hate her, it’s not like she meant it when she accused me of lying to her about paying my rent on time, nor did she act with malice when she complained about noise (a justifiable complaint) when we had too many guests over and then proceeded to accuse us of running a crack den (no, landlady, a party with people having a good time does not a crack den make). And I’m sure she meant no harm when she judgmentally told me one morning of how my boyfriend reeked of “drunkenness” when he said hello to her in the hallway the night before, after having TWO beers. I mean, maybe it is my fault that I don’t live my life like the puritans from the 17th century. Maybe I shouldn’t have guests over and perhaps I blew it with God by having a glass of wine on a Saturday night, that's just awful, someone should slap me.

The thing is, she likes to call me Honey.

“I got your rent check and it’s missing $12.50, honey.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Wait… 12.50? Why 12.50?” (I forgot that she raised the rent).

“Well, $575 and $600 don’t make $1200, and that’s what you owe, honey.”

“Oh! Right. But doesn’t that mean I owe you $25 instead of $12.50?” (I am way too nice).

“Oh yes, yes you do! You owe me $625 and you only gave me $600, you didn’t give me enough money! Honey.”

“Yes, I’ll…”

“I am going to give you half an hour to get down here, and if you’re not here by then, I will have to charge you a $50 late fee! Honey.”

“No problem, I’ll…”

“Because you didn’t give me enough, and you owe me money. Honey.”

“Yes, I just forgot, I’ll be there.”

Maybe… just maybe she IS a bitch, honey.

A Normal Conversation Between Two People Studying for the Bar

K: Hey, wanna hear a gross story?

Me: sure.

K: a man noticed what seemed like blood streaks on his ceiling. As it turned out, his upstairs neighbor hung herself in the bathroom and after weeks of being there, her innards exploded and started to drip all over the floor. Her bathroom was directly above the man’s bedroom, and her blood and innards were seeping through the floor, onto his ceiling.

Me: …That’s nasty

…A short while later…

Me: Hey. Would that man be able to sue the dead woman’s estate for nuisance?

K (looks at me with glee): I wonder!

Me: I mean, it is a substantial and unreasonable interference of the quiet use and enjoyment of that man’s property which he has immediate possession to and a legal right to as a tenant.

K: well, what theory would you sue under though?

Me: You could sue under negligence!

K: But that’s not really a foreseeable result though, having your innards to burst and drip into the floor? I don’t think that man was a foreseeable plaintiff, there’s no proximate cause here.

…Another short while later…

K (screaming with delight): OH MY GOD, it’s trespass to land!

…we laugh…

…Another short while later…

Me: actually, no, trespass to land is an intentional tort.

K: yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking too…

We go back to study…