Jason had a meeting at the Worker's Compensation Board (whatever that is) in the Valley this morning, and on his way back down, he swung through West LA so we could lunch. We darted in and out of the rain and ended up at the good ol' stand-by, Clementine. I had a killer cold sore the past couple of days, and today's lunch of a gruyere and leek panino was a celebrated return to eating.He was all spiffed up in a suit. "Do you always wear that?" I asked. "Only when I have to go to the Board." "What does that mean?" "Oh, you know, I just go there and stuff." That's what happens when you work. It's all just stuff, pressure, nonsense, this and that. Jason talked again about preferring to study (like, even for the Bar) over working.
So, let me tell you, Jasons and Vans out there, I am sitting here with the greatest misery in my back, having typed for so long carpal tunnel set in and already healed, and not having de-squinted my eyes since late December. (Which, for a Chinese kid, leaves little surface area for visible pupils.) Tony talked before about a post-Bar brain going to mush. Everybody, don't take your bar passage for granted. I can't wait to let my brain go to mush when this is all over. Soak up your employed or unemployed Bar membership and thank your lucky stars that you were part of that 48% from July 2004, the lowest passage rate since 1986, and in fact, I even encourage you to hold up a glass and laugh tauntingly at the pathetic 52% that will return to battle on Tuesday morning at 9:00am.
I can't wait to wear high heels again. To see Carlos and have hair all one-color, or at least, all one-scheme. To pick up a paycheck and be able to plan fabulous parties.
Women are hopelessly predictable. They all just like shoes, handbags, and chocolate. Thank God I'm predictable.
posted by Lucy Sloan @ 9:41 PM
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