Today seemed like the kind of day when the world was falling apart.
I could probably make that case for every day, and I do, which is why I am in possession of several prescription medications all aimed at decreasing my anxiety. It is, of course, my own stupid fault. I don’t do anything that I should be doing to decrease my anxiety – I smoke, I drink caffeine, I work out too close to bedtime, I don’t sleep regular hours, and I watch Rachel Maddow and Anderson Cooper even though they regularly induce panic attacks. Today was no different from my regular pattern. I’ve had the entire past week to do my assignments, but of course I put it all off until yesterday because I’m just that smart. So I was up until about four in the morning when I decided to take a two hour power nap, wake up at 6:30 and finish my reading. My alarm went off, I hit the snooze and woke up an hour later. So I was already running late before I even woke up.
I finished pretty much everything I had to do in the morning with good enough time. Where I went wrong was getting dressed. My grandmother just sent me this cute new dress from Modcloth, a sweater-dress, very Kate. So I wanted to wear it today, with my black, patent-leather flats, also very Kate. Those trendy sons of bitches, however, cause me to bleed profusely from the backs of my heels. I’d already worn this pair of shoes, so I already knew that the bleeding was bound to happen, so I was prepared and put band-aids over where I knew my shoes would scrape my skin off. I was halfway to school when the band-aids fell off. I would have suffered until I got to school, but like I said, I already had a wound from my first time wearing these shoes, and I didn’t want to be leaving a trail of blood behind me as I walked down Broadway. So I had to stop in the Duane Reed to buy new band-aids. That’s when the profuse sweating started.
I’m pretty sure I suffer from hyperhidrosis. In case you were wondering, that sounds exactly as disgusting as it actually is. So I have to limp down Broadway, still bleeding from the foot because I’m sweating so much that my band-aids aren’t sticking to my skin, and everyone is staring at the bleeding, limping, sweating girl. Not that I blame them. So I get to school, get to the library, print out my assignments, which takes me like, fifteen minutes to figure out how to do. And then I wind up being like, five minutes late to my first class of law school ever. Not a good start. So then I just sat around in class for over an hour looking stupid because I was too flustered to, oh I don’t know, open my fucking laptop and look at my notes. I’m so retarded.
The only way that could have been worse was if I would have run into my new crush, Ryan. I think I already said his name in an earlier post so fuck it. (P.S. Dear Ryan, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry I used your real name. Also, I have a crush on you. Xoxo, Lucie.) He pretty much fits the mold of all guys I’ve ever liked ever – dark hair, light eyes, full sleeves of tattoos. I guess I should say he fits the mold physically, because he departs in one HUGE way. He actually has – get this – goals and ambitions! That never happens when I like a guy! I sometimes even find men attractive who have retroactively become un-ambitious! Case in point, my raging crush on Michael Phelps this summer at the start of the Olympics when he was sucking. Ryan is getting his LLM, so he’s already been to law school, AND grad school. Crazy, right? And I saw him the other day when he was wearing a blazer to cover up all his tattoos and had a physical reaction. He’s pretty. Sigh…
So it’s only the first day and I’m already 100% exhausted. Then, to make matters worse, I’m heading to my first torts class ever, completely convinced that I’m going to fail law school (ON MY FIRST DAY), and I decide to check my facebook. Upon doing so, I realize that Isaac is pretty much taking the exact path as Katrina. And there is no mandatory evacuation. It’s only expected to be a Cat 1, but you’ll understand if the hair on the back of my neck stand up when I see a hurricane making it’s way for New Orleans. I just hope that everyone stays safe and that Isaac remains a Cat 1…ergh. Then I start reading articles about how the Taliban just murdered a bunch of people for attending a party. And Paul Ryan is talking about how much he loves rape. And the love of my life, Prince Harry, is showing his ass hole to the entire world. (Which, okay, is not as serious as Paul Ryan or the Taliban, but I now have to find something new to daydream about because I’m sorry, but showing your ass hole to the entire world pretty much kills it as far as me being attracted to you.) And I have no idea what’s going on in Syria, because there’s been some weird blackout in reporting, which makes me think that there are things going on that I’m not supposed to know about. (Military drones, anyone?) Oh, and, as it turns out, leaving Afghanistan is going to be about a million times harder than previously estimated, which was already pretty freaking difficult.
At this point, I decided that I should be focusing on torts, not the articles on huffpo. But torts was pretty easy. We were basically going over all of the stuff we’d read in the textbook. Which really kind of pissed me off because I thought that the point of law school was NOT to be like undergrad, where you did a shit ton of reading and then realized it was pointless and stopped doing it and then only went to the lecture. I mean, I’m glad I didn’t get the scary kind of professor who goes full on Socratic on the first day and goes back and forth with you for forty minutes, but come on. Did we really have to discuss the McDonald’s coffee lady for an hour and forty minutes? And, since I’d had a pretty rushed day on three hours of sleep, I got a coffee before class and then remembered that I hadn’t eaten yet so I had a croissant. This was apparently inadequate for my tummy, and halfway through class I started getting that feeling where you know you’re about to have explosive diarrhea. (P.S. Dear Ryan, if you’re reading this, pretend I didn’t just say that.) I just reread what I wrote and started laughing out loud about me shitting my pants (dress?) in torts. It’s official, I have the sense of humor of the boys from South Park.
There were a few good things that happened today, too. For one, I didn’t shit my pants in torts. Also, when I came home from school I downloaded the season finale of the Newsroom, and it was wonderful. I mean, absolutely nothing was resolved, but I just love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love Sorkin so very very much. OH! AND! John Gallagher Jr. is going to be at this place that is literally two blocks away from my apartment next weekend! And I just love love love love love love love him. (Note: Not as much love as Sorkin.) So yes, for much of today it seemed like the whole world was falling apart. But it didn’t. I’m still in New York City, and I didn’t fail law school on my first day, and I didn’t die from loss of blood on Broadway on the walk back to my apartment. I did, however, pig out as soon as I got home, which only led to Round 2 of Lucie Feeling Like She’s Going To Have Explosive Diarrhea. (P.S. Dear Ryan, …Oh, fuck it.)