jookitcz: (angst jam)
There is some unholy power in the world, and it makes me wake up at 8:00 on a Saturday, bleary and dehydrated from Friday-night revelry, to apply pantyhose to my legs and then walk a half mile through the slush in my heels.

I missed breakfast.  This made me cranky.  I was the cross-examiner you never want to face, the one who's confused, floundering, can't say esses because her tongue is dry, and is flailingly belligerent anyway.   It was a fifteen minute cross.  I felt disgusting afterwards.  I mean, I have excuses, besides my irritated physical and mental states, we switched a new witness in on prosecution, and most of my original cross damaged her credibility, so I was working ex tempore, so to speak.  So I sat down and wrote myself a new and better cross for the rest of the trial, creating a logical proof that should destroy the expert's credibility beyond all repair, allowing me to gracefully voir dire the witness during direct examination.

So.  That was my morning.  And I still haven't had breakfast, because once you've gone long enough without eating, it starts to feel like too much work to get up and make some eggs and toast.

jookitcz: (Default)
This is going to be a lonely, painful week, I think, because nothing is more isolating than having many personal tasks with which to contend.  No one else cares about them, you see, and since that's all that you can think about, it's impossible to have a satisfying conversation.  I am not prepared for my calculus test, because I have too much trouble still solving for maximums and minimums of solids.  I am not prepared for my finance test, because I've been skipping classes, not doing the problems, and all encounters with the theory cause me intense artistic misery.  I am not prepared for my Management test.  I think I'll get a B.  And my managerial economics class?  I feel like I'm going into it with my eyes closed.  Maybe I'll be able to find my way through by touch, you know?  I only feel optimistic about it because I'm not even prepared enough to know to stress out about it.

The Mock Trial invitational was frustrating.  I thought that my competitive doppleganger had left for an alternate reality after high school, but put her in front of a judge, and she starts to struggle to break back through to this one.  And I don't like being competitive.  I find it to be an unpleasant feeling, and it distorts proper perspective.  Being competitive is fine if you are fighting for something that is both in your power and worthwhile, but if you've done all that you can do--that's enough.  If it isn't worthwhile, re-prioritize.

Duke's campus is gorgeous, though.  All these sprawling, Gothic stone buildings.  I would have appreciated the beauty of the landscaping more, probably, if I had not been wearing heels.  My legs still hurt today, not in a exercise-sore way, but in a strained-muscle way.  I need to find, at some point, dress shoes that don't destroy the structural integrity of my body.

I am glad, though, to be back to my own food.  The south has a very disturbing approach to vegetables.
jookitcz: (Default)
My two--no, three--most basic instincts are at war.  My competitive drive, my fear of radically new things, and my burning desire to read Perfume all are in dire conflict.  There was a point tonight where the thought of flying to Tennessee and competing for the first time in a being-learned context, in a foreign setting, made me nauseated and headachey at once.  That mostly disappeared though, washed away in the tsunami of mon dieu, je suis trés fatiguée!  I don't want to go to Tennessee.  That probably means that it's good for me to go. 

I bought food for the trip, since it will apparently be in short supply.  I have already broken into that bag of dried pineapple, to soothe my nerves with food, which is terrible.   It's addicting.  Dried pineapple, dried mango, dried mango-flavored pineapple... I don't know what I would do without food.  The immediacy of taste is a wonderful thing, because it puts all else into perspective.  What are abstract fears, in the face of tongue and taste and texture?  Suskind describes Grenouille's frustration with the vocabulary of scent, because it is so limited.  We have the same--sweet, sour, bitter, salty, and metaphors, because the only way to get around the limit of precise words is to compare it to something familiar and similar.  Like chicken.  I need to put this pineapple away.  It did make me feel better, though.

So now I'm writing up two potential cross examinations at the last minute, and let me tell you, Chief Julian Polson is a bugger to pin down.  Please, God, let me be allowed to enter evidence in on cross examination.  I've been paging frantically through the evidence files for the last half hour, from letter to PCPD regulations and then to another affadavit, trying to figure out who exactly is responsible for investigating reports of officer misconduct, all for one question.  And then, you know, how do I prove it if the witness lies, and the proof exists in evidence which has not been entered?  So we would have to be able to enter evidence on cross.  It makes no sense otherwise.


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July 2010

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