--> divine angst

Monday, November 15, 2004

I'm beginning to feel like a total slacker. At home in the evenings, or over the weekend, I feel there's something I should doing that I'm not, but I can't quite put my finger on it. And then I remember—my law school applications.

They are, for the most part, done. This is a good thing. I am holding out on several of them because they don't require letters of recommendation, and I don't want my LSAC reports to be sent without letters because then they won't consider my letters when they consider my app. That would be a bad thing.

But there are other apps that require letters, and on which I've had to name my letter writers. So there's no real reason for me not to send those in. Except that I have been slacking. I need to sit down, print those apps out, proof them, correct them if necessary, and go ahead and transmit them. But I haven't.

There's a little voice in my head—the one trained to make these kinds of comments by growing up with my psychologist mom—that says my slacking is because I don't really want to go to law school. The problem with that voice is that it's purely reactionary and knows nothing at all about real motives. It's the same voice that wants to excuse me for saying hurtful things by saying, "You can't make anyone feel anything they don't already feel." In other words, that little voice only knows the jargon.

I do want to go to law school. But I'm in a spot now where I am really having to deal with some of those tough questions I didn't want to think about back in August. Like, since my LSAT wasn't as high as I hoped, I will have a tougher time getting into the schools in Chicago that I want to go to; but remember, Mr. Angst is also applying to graduate school. So, what happens if I get into only my Chicago safety, and the only school he gets into is in Chicago? Then we both end up in Chicago, in schools we maybe aren't thrilled with.

That kind of silly problem is plaguing me. It's silly because it's completely unknown and unknowable and worrying about it right now is purely a waste of energy.

What I need to do is shove all distractions aside and transmit some of my apps RIGHT NOW. OK, not right now, since I'm on a Mac and have to wait till I get home to use the PC. But today. And here comes that little voice again, sounding so reasonable, saying, "But you have to finish that drywall repair, and go to the Home Depot to pick up spackle and paint and a closet rod and brackets. And then you need to spackle and paint so you can hang that closet rod tomorrow." And I think, well, alright, I can put it off for another day; but tomorrow we have to hang the rod, then move our clothes back to our closet. And Wednesday I have choir, and Thursday we need to straighten up for the cleaning lady coming on Friday—as well as Mr. Angst's parents. And then we'll have family staying with us until Sunday after Thanksgiving.

The little voice is trying to convince me to wait; then I can blame any dings on my own stupid procrastination instead of on whatever reality gets me dinged—whether it be numbers or background or just not fitting what the adcoms want.

So I'll try and put the little voice on mute. Tonight, while my lovely chicken braises in the oven, I'll print out those three or so apps that need to get sent RIGHT NOW, and work on them until it's time to go to Home Depot. And then, I will send them. So there.