Odd is in the Air

I love living in Lawrence (sorry Dad). On any given day, you can take a walk down Mass Street and experience all arrays of human behavior: a young couple, walking hand in hand basking in the glory of their newfound undergraduate love; the crack addict begging for change; and ofcourse, the Lawrence hippie reeking of Patchuli (sp) and unwashed, dreaded hair.

Today, however, as I sit in the Borders Café typing a paper, I am privy to one of the most bizarre scenes I’ve witnessed in my three years here. Across the street, outside of the Java Break Café, are a group of four dancers, three females and one male. All dressed in black, each donning a black mustache reminiscent of the Charlie Chaplin (thanks, Brandon) style mustache. They are dancing about in an almost trance-like style, some clutching paper coffee cups as though they are in worship. At times, the pace picks up as though they are seizing, yet in a controlled manner.

I’ve been watching this scene now for almost fifteen minutes and I am completely in awe. I can’t stop watching. And I’m not the only one. The twenty-some other patrons of the Borders Café are also watching in awe and attempting to understand the scene going on just a mere streets’ width away. A lady just exclaimed that it is probably part of some dance spotlight going on in the city. I’m doubtful. I mean, this is weird.

I’ve attempted to capture the scene with my trusty razor cell phone camera but ofcourse it falls short of giving you any idea of just how bizarre this is. Nonetheless, here is the photo, so you can at least get an idea...the blur of people across the street are those other observors watching in awe. You are maybe able to see one of the dancers dressed in black. Perhaps even more exciting are the budding trees. Yay for spring!!

WNN0438

My next door neighbor, Jesse, and I enjoy reminiscing about our farm childhoods. Only those who were lucky enough to spend their youth in rural Kansas can exchange the unique stories that accompany such a lifestyle: hour long drives to get warm pizza, burning the trash, walking for miles in any direction before finding your nearest neighbor, a gas station in your own back yard (or in our case, an ice skating rink), any relative in a 30-mile radius was your "best friend" and so on...

This particular evening, Jesse and I were talking about the technology of farm living. He was actually admitting that he recognizes the utility of cell phones in the farm setting and didn't know what they ever did without them. Which quickly led us both to laugh about the days of radios and walkie-talkies. And before I even realized the random sequence of numbers and letters that were entering my head, I blurted them out: WNN0438. And there they were. The numbers of my childhood. Those numbers flooded back memories of me radio'ing back to the house because I had stalled the four-wheeler somewhere and couldn't restart it; taking a call from dad who was in a hot tractor somewhere letting us know he'd be home soon; Brandon and Devin getting into walkie-talkie fights about who knows what...I even remember a time when we took the walkie-talkies on vacation and I got in trouble for spouting out the code. To this day I'm not sure why that was bad. Maybe someone can fill me in?

Aww farm life. I wouldn't trade that upbringing for the most privileged childhood in the world. And I mean that (just in case mom or dad wants to challenge me on that statement...)

Seventh Year Senior Syndrome

Never one to let go of my psychology roots, I recently diagnosed myself with a very serious disorder: Seventh Year Senior Syndrome (SYSS). Though the incident rate of SYSS is high amongst my fellow law school classmates, SYSS is a rather rare syndrome. At it's earliest stage, fifth-year senior syndrome, it affects those few (or slacker) college students who choose to stretch out their undegraduate to a fifth year. However, if further schooling must be pursued, there is a 99.9% chance the syndrome will develop into full-blown SYSS.

SYSS manifests itself in many different ways. Its effects are most prominent whenever an SYSS sufferer must enter the law school, talk about law school, or attempt to find a legal job. Most SYSS sufferers cope with its effects by limiting appearances at law school to as few as possible(note this does not mean class-skipping), frequent outbursts damning the law school to a fiery place, frequent party-planning/attending, day drinking at the crossing and late-night partying with other SYSS sufferers. SYSS sufferers do not limit their coping mechanisms to alcohol, however. In fact, being the perfectionists that most SYSS sufferers are, many turn to exercise. Yoga classes are over-crowded with eager SYSS sufferers who are ready to sweat out the law school toxins in their bodies. Sunny days in Lawrence equals crowds of SYSS sufferers walking/running around downtown, soaking up the sun in order to burn away more toxins. Nonetheless, many of these activities may soon turn ugly. After any given yoga class, you may find an SYSS sufferer peer-pressuring others to blow off their school responsibilities and go to dinner on Mass street...followed by a few beers at a random bar... 'til passouts do you part.

The treatment, ofcourse, is relatively simple: stop going to school. Thankfully, my treatment is on it's way. By May 20 of this year, they say I'll virtually be cured of my SYSS. And it really couldn't come at a more fortunate time.

So these...these are the best years of our lives

Friday, March 2 was a blustery and chilly day. I sprung out of bed and headed to the law school to do some last minute work on the finishing touches of that evening's Barrister's Ball (aka Law Prom). Giddy with excitement, I smiled everyone I passed on my walk into the building and followed that up with "Hey, you coming to the Ball tonight?" The response was usually in the affirmative. To which I'd say, "Great. It's going to be such a good time."

The truth was, I didn't actually know if it would be a good time. For months, the five brave soles spearheading this event (Dan, Katie, Lindsey, Christel and I) had been focusing all of our efforts on making this an event that people would look back on and say it was one of their best times in law school. But whenever you take on the responsibility for planning a "good time," it's inevitable you'll worry it will be anything but that. Not to mention, we weren't putting on this event for the normal population. Law students are notorious for being hard to please. I guess it's the competitive nature in all of us that makes them think "I could have done this better."

I had to put my anxiety to the side as I checked the office messages, paid some bills and set off to purchase wrist bands. Besides, in less than an hour, I'd be leaving for Manhattan, KS to see Prez Bill speak. (Great time, btw. Such a brilliant man).

Fast forward to 6:45 pm as I sprint back into my house, returning from Manhattan. I was supposed to be ready and at the ball by 7:30. As I sprinted through my get ready routine, I was aware that the focal point for the night would have to be the shoes and dress I purchased rather than hair and makeup. I walked out the door a little passed 7:30, anxious to imbibe in the good time I had promised so many people.

And boy was it ever. Three hours later, I was swimming in a sea of law students plus one all dressed to the nines. (One girl was even wearing her pageant dress...wow!) The floor was coated in beer, wine and chunks of wine glass. And the dj was playing hip hop's finest selection. Though it started classy it ended just like we wanted. I couldn't have been more proud and with every turn I took that night there was someone there greating me with "this is so fun!" It wasn't a thank-you, but it was better than that. It was sincere.

Sweat Fest

Another weekend has come and gone. Sunday night blues have set in, but I've managed to accomplish something this weekend that has left me feeling a little better than I normally would at 10:30 pm on a Sunday night. Thanks to my roommate I discovered the world of hot yoga today (otherwise known as Bikram yoga). Hot yoga is a series of poses totalling a 90-minute workout, done in a room that is normally around 105 degrees. Though I had heard of it before, I really had no clue what to expect.

Today was Amanda's third trip and she had made several recruits beyond me: our friends Dan, Katie, Christel and Jessie went along as well and all were also first-timers like me. I was glad to know that even though I'd be doing yoga with a veteran group of Lawrence hippies I would at least have a few rookies on my side.

Upon arrival, the instructor explained the few rules: no talking during class, no drinking water until we are told to do so and absolutely NO LEAVING THE ROOM during class -- if you get light-headed or worse, just sit down on your yoga mat. That had me worried, but I've been training for a half-marathon for a solid month now and figured I could probably handle whatever he threw at us.

Was I ever wrong. We took our positions on our mats and towels in the very hot room. I don't know if it was 105 degrees, but it was hot enough to be uncomfortable. Sweating like a pig was inevitable. Fifteen minutes into the series we had managed to accomplish the warm-up breathing exercise. WARM-UP?!? I was already exhausted. My eyes were on fire from the sweat that I couldn't stop from rolling down my forehead. (Side note: apparently the other yoga teacher has another rule: absolutely no wiping off the sweat from your body).

There were many times during the first 45 minutes that even though my body might have been capable of performing the desired position I was so physically drained I could do no more than bend over and stare at the floor so as not to pass out. Just when I was thinking I was in over my head (sometimes literally...) the instructor explained that we had finished the standing part of the series and would now move to the floor. I had never been so relieved in my life. I didn't care what crazy poses we'd be doing on the floor, there was NO WAY it would be as difficult as the standing poses we'd been doing for 45 minutes.

I wasn't completely wrong. It was still harder than anything I'd done and I still couldn't perform half of the moves but the Shavasana pose was the key difference for the floor exercises. After every difficult pose, we would be released into the Shavasana (the corpse pose): lying on our backs, heels touching and toes pointing up at 45 degree angles with arms at our sides and palms up. Possibly the most relaxing position I've ever encountered -- and I intend to sleep that way tonight though I'm extremely aware of how difficult it is for me to sleep this way.

The end of the 90-minute yoga series brought with it much happiness for me and relief. I was proud of myself for making it through and excited about the opportunity to do it again...even though I had to wash every last item of clothing I was wearing immediately upon returning home because each piece was soaked in my sweat!

I have the cake and I get to eat it too!

I woke up to a very important phone call this morning at 8:15 am. I didn't answer...I was nervous for what the caller had to say and I didn't want to have groggy morning voice either.

Wednesday afternoon I had an interview with the head of Medicaid Appeals at Legal Aid. The interview was somewhat intense and I had to answer such questions as how much my student loans were and if I could live on $34,500 salary. All in all, I thought I took the interview in stride and had the right answers for at least 90% of the questions. At the end of the interview, Gregg asked me if I'd be available for a second interview next week. (He wasn't promising the interview, but wanted to make sure of my availability in case they selected me for a second). I eagerly said yes and spouted off that I'd be available Thursday afternoon and all day Friday, March 2. I didn't think about it again until Gregg e-mailed the following day (Thursday) asking for a second interview and detailing the interview schedule for all of Friday afternoon, March 2. And that's when it dawned on me what else I had scheduled for Friday, March 2.

Two weeks ago I found out that the man, Prez. Bill C, was giving a lecture in Manhattan at 3:30 Friday, March 2. I was ecstatic. I made it my mission to get tickets to go. Using my own resources, I would have never gotten those tickets, but luckily I've got friends in high places. My friend's dad is the head of the KS Dem Party and Tuesday night (the night before my interview) I received the call that we all had tickets. Woo hooo.

Fast forward to the e-mail detailing my interview schedule for Friday, March 2. The ball dropped. I really did start crying. I couldn't believe that I might miss Bill because I had to do a three-hour interview for a place that wasn't even going to pay me in one year as much as Bill charges for one appearance. I frantically drafted an e-mail asking for a reschedule. I had to consult several friends before I finalized the e-mail and sent it. It was about one hour into sending the e-mail out (into the wild blue yonder) that I started to panic. What had I done? I was certain that I'd receive the following reply e-mail:

"Dear Adrienne, You have demonstrated that you are not interested in this job. We no longer need you to come in for a second interview."

I know I'm crazy. But for about two hours, I had a permanent I'm-going-to-throw-up-feeling. But the reality is I received a reply e-mail several hours later saying that it was understandable and an attempt to reschedule was under way.

Again, fast forward to this morning and the phone call. I anxiously awaited the voicemail notification. And there it was: the interview had been rescheduled for this Monday. I GET TO GO SEE BILL AND DO THE INTERVIEW.

Thank you, karma. I knew I deserved one in my favor!

Invasion of the Elderly

Everywhere you turn in the Capital today there are old people wearing bright yellow t-shirts with AARP written across the chest. It's kind of fun. I love old people. Except they are sort of clogging up the hallways and areas near elevators with their slow walking and absolute refusal to take the stairs. (I took the four flights of stairs all the way up to the 5th floor this morning, I'll have you know, to deliver the Senator her limeade in exchange for her laptop).

I was sitting at my little desk when a man walked in to give the Senator one of these bright yellow tees and to my surprise, it was someone I knew: my aunt Lisa's father, Jerry. I tried to explain to him who I was, but I don't think he really understood -- and he also couldn't hear me very well. So although he said he'd tell Lisa he saw me, I doubt that really ever happens. Oh well.

Other than that, I'm somewhat bored and distracted today. As always, I'm in a constant state of anxiety about what lays ahead for me career-wise. I have a second interview tomorrow with Legal Aid in the Medicaid Appeals Department. I'm excited about it, though I'd rather work in the domestic division, I'm not going to be too choosy at this point. Anyway, having a second interview has given me some hope that this might work out. Inevitably, I am prematurely planning how life will be if I get this job...where I'll live (Rivermarket, KC), how I'll budget my money (financial planning?) -- more importantly, how I'll afford the warddrobe I always pictured myself wearing as a successful attorney.

It's hard to explain how planning for the future consumes me...but here's an example. About six weeks into every semester, the law school posts the class schedules and final exam schedules for the following semester. Enrollment isn't until about another month later, but literally the first day the schedules are posted I have already determined what classes I will take and made sure that I will have a good finals schedule, etc. I get a lot of shit for this from my friends.

This type of behavior applies to almost any situation in my life. I'm a planner. I want to know the schedule, I want to have a path, I want to know what I'll wear on that path. Maybe soon I'll finally know what that path is after law school because as you can imagine, this not knowing stuff is driving me crazy!