I trudge up the stairs from my usual subway stop, lugging a giant plastic bag of boxes behind me. Who knew a bag of boxes could be so heavy?  The plastic handles are stretched into tiny ropes that cut into my skin and leave red welts.  My skin is very sensitive to "trauma."  A doctor told me that once. It's called dermographia.

My whole body is aching, my head feels stuffed full of cotton, and I'm starting to sweat and, much to my chagrin, my pants are starting to slip down past the comfortable point.  Belt, belt, belt.  I try to surreptitiously sidle my pants back up, but there's no way to do that when you're toting around a giant plastic bag the size of a U.S.P.S. Mailbox. You know, the big blue ones on the streets.

So tired.  I feel like I've pulled two all-nighters.  It's a feeling I'm familiar with, you know, from the good ol' days when I used to think it was fun to pull all-nighters in college.  In fact, the past three days I've done the best I could to get to sleep by 10 pm. 

Anyway, two Bar exams can really take it out of you. The NY Bar Exam was hectic, crowded, and stressful.  The one emotion it really provoked in me was anger.  Anger at the disorganized way it was managed, anger at the Bar Examiners for testing subjects I didn't know and ignoring subjects I'd wasted hours and hours on.  The NJ Bar Exam was a bit more efficient.  In my tired stupor, staring at the computer "Start" screen and waiting for the proctor to say the inevitable, "You may begin," I wondered if the difference in efficiency said anything about NYers v. NJans (NJians?).  And then, I began to think I'd never survive California.  I appreciate it when people go about their business with a sense of urgency and purpose.  I like the snap-to-it-tiveness of American efficiency.

I remember working for the summer in a law firm in London, where they kept all their files in a storage closet, in piles on top of chairs, on the floor, wherever there was a flat surface.  No filing system.  Or, rather, the filing system was to send the interns into the dusty closet and waste two hours looking for a file that was poorly labeled and hidden under a pile of old, closed cases.  And not that I'm saying London law firms are crap; no, no. But when my fellow American intern and I timidly suggested that perhaps we could spend some time organizing their filing system, they laughed us off and called us "obsessive compulsive Americans, always wanting to shave a minute."  Shave a minute?  How about one hundred and eighty minutes?

What was I talking about?

My mom is the sweetest.  She made me my favorite foods.  I felt bad when I had no appetite to eat any of it, but she wrapped some of it up for me so I could have it for dinner tonight.  I think I'm too tired to eat.  Read that last sentence again, folks, it's the first and last time you'll ever see it from me!

Oh yes, we started with me walking out of the subway.

And there it was.  Brooklyn, lit by the most romantic light.  The deep orange glow of a fading sunset lighting the buildings at angles and turning everything rosy.  I was struck by how much I love this place.  I really love it.  It moves and it bustles, everyone is a personality, everything has a flavor.  And then on quiet nights and early mornings, the streets suddenly become a private little neighborhood.  It's a gentle delusion of privacy and intimacy that I love. 

I keep vowing that I'm moving back here, and maybe in three months I'll write an ecstatic post about my new job and my perfect apartment within walking distance of the park.  But there's also the possibility that I won't see this neighborhood again for a few years.  Who knows where I'll end up?  I took the NJ Bar, didn't I? 

I lingered on the streets a bit, but the giant plastic bag was not helping the romantic fuzzy feelings. So I struggled to my apartment and walked into the room I just left behind yesterday morning.  I almost dry-heaved.  Everywhere, evidence of Bar misery.  Not only that, but the daunting task of packing.  Packing and cleaning and moving.  So tired.  I tried hard to convince myself I was looking forward to this mindless, physical task.  I told many people, in an effort to convince myself, that I was so ready to put aside my books and get to scrubbing the stove.  But now that I'm here, and I'm on the cusp of beginning this unpleasant task, I realize... I'm a total liar.

That's when I decided to postpone my misery for 17 minutes. The 17 minutes it took me to write this post. 

I'm serious. Turn away.  It's my own personal freak out. Do not partake. Don't sink your own ship.  Leave me! Save yourselves!!!



My brain says there's no way I can fail this. I've been studying for two solid months of 10-14 hour days. 

But as the day approaches, and things keep falling out of my head, and the practice essays keep failing me... I don't know.

I might fail. I mean.. I could really fail this thing.  It's totally possible.  People fail all the time.  It's a hard test.  So yeah.  I could fail.

If I fail, no big deal, I'll take it again in Feb.

But I might die of shame before then.

I can't help it freaking out. I keep bombing the practice essays.  I mean... if the past five practice essays were the essays on the exam, I WOULD FAIL THE BAR EXAM.

Holy god.  I'm not even strong on the multi-state section.  I'm at a total loss.