Musings on a Law School Life

I.      Embarkation

a.     Glimmer hopeful bookish eyes [with a side of romantic endeavoring]

b.     Tentative and desperate relationships desperately gel like shipwreck survivors

c.     If you were a pirate, your booty would all be lost to gigantic tomes needfully purchased

d.     Eighteen highlighters, gigantic thermos[es], the smell of raw naked fear mingled with outlandish cock [-iness]

II.     Despair

a.     Glinting realization

b.     Blood in the water

c.     The tomes so needfully purchased weigh a planet and a half

d.     A professor with a broken shoulder, a bald tender pate, triangular black hair and the cold-call shudder shock

III.     Rage

a.     Fighting the Type A beast screaming inside, snarling with pure madness

b.     Watching blissful Frisbee throwers with an icy, destructive pierce

c.     “I sit back quietly, and the rage builds up in my heart.” True story.

IV.     Enlightenment

a.     Resignation, bien sur

b.     A giving in and a giving up, like drowning while laughing

c.     If you were a lump of coal, you’d still be a lump of coal except slightly happier to know you were so instead of a diamond.

d.     Flickering, licking images of hurricanes in the periphery, however

V.       Endarkenment

a.     That moment when you realize you are drowning even though you were warm and happy as you sank to the depths

b.     A blast of salty, brackish, volcano air that scours away that scrap, vestige of hope

c.     Eclipse [but no vampires]

VI.     Cynicism

a.     Scotch

b.     Suits

c.     Tired jokes about torts

d.     J.D.

Musings on a Law School Life: (b)(2)(ii)

[little bee, little eyes]

VII. Grit

Words scatter across a snow-white/ecru page
With meaning bereft of heart
The literal gritting of free-candy-soaked teeth to sweep the words into

The wizard with no vowels commands us: grit your teeth
And ask yourself
Listen and think

VIII. Gorillas

Shrill: doctriiiiinally, sidestep the BLACK LETTER and let the squirrels chatter amongst themselves
Sidelong, bored glances at
Afternoon nappers
Knowing the reservoir remains as yet untapped
Après moi, le déluge.

IX. Gamble

Feeling silly, gild the lILY
This is serious
Bloody bodies, precision, hooded eyes

Meek demeanor is misleading: she wields the pen with ferocity and zeal
[response: Bring it. Or, alternatively, general whimpering]
The blood drains from their faces

X. Release

They say this is
Gonna make us better people
Dragged, spent, exhausted into the snow, where we are revived by a St. Bernard
With a barrel of brandy hanging from his neck, barrels for at least two weeks
Until half-broken, we lurch back panting for more
And tens of thousands poorer

by Sari Long
[part duex added November 25, 2010]

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