A little bit of productivity.
The local library has wireless internet! Now all I need is a free printer to print my Westlaw research. The library's nice. I'm sitting by a big window and it's been snowing lightly most of the morning. There's no wind, so the snow wobbles around in the air for a while before hitting the ground. I'm one of the younger patrons this morning. In fact, the bulk of the library visitors on a Monday morning seem to be elderly. One of the librarians just stopped by to verify that I'm home for Spring Break. I'm well known at the library; most of the librarians have been here forever and I've been a pretty consistent patron since I got my library card in first grade. It's nice, I like working here.
Okay, that was bizarre. There's an older gentleman sitting about 15 feet away who's been reading National Geographic and intermittently falling asleep. He just came over to say that he "couldn't help noticing" that I've got a nice computer and was wondering if I'm a student at the local community college. Turns out he recently finished his degree there and once I told him I'm actually in law school, he was interested to find out what kind of grades that requires. Now he's reading again; his cowboy boots are propped up on ottoman and it looks like sleep might not be too far off.
My brother's coming to town in a few hours. I wasn't sure he'd be able to make a trip home this week, so I'm glad he'll be here tonight. He's also bringing his girlfriend along. I think the three of us are going our for dinner. It should be fun; he seems to like this girlfriend more than any of the others he's had.
Last night, I was digging through the piles of books that I've left around my parents' house and I found a journal that I used during my senior year of college. I started a lot of journals over the years, but never wrote in the consistently. The one I found last night only had a handful of real entries. The rest was filled primarily with an odd assortment of quotes and passages from books. There were also several book lists (books I'd read and wanted to read). And, I guess I used it as scratch paper when I was preparing for the LSAT because a few pages were filled with logic puzzle diagrams. Immediately following that is what was probably one of my first lists of potential law schools. The list contained 19 possibilities. Of them, I actually applied to six (and six not on the list). NYU wasn't on it.
I'd also jotted down in there a poem that I read somewhere and liked a lot. Unlike a lot of the quotes in the journal, I still like it. Here it is:
One Art
Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
The practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
Okay, that was bizarre. There's an older gentleman sitting about 15 feet away who's been reading National Geographic and intermittently falling asleep. He just came over to say that he "couldn't help noticing" that I've got a nice computer and was wondering if I'm a student at the local community college. Turns out he recently finished his degree there and once I told him I'm actually in law school, he was interested to find out what kind of grades that requires. Now he's reading again; his cowboy boots are propped up on ottoman and it looks like sleep might not be too far off.
My brother's coming to town in a few hours. I wasn't sure he'd be able to make a trip home this week, so I'm glad he'll be here tonight. He's also bringing his girlfriend along. I think the three of us are going our for dinner. It should be fun; he seems to like this girlfriend more than any of the others he's had.
Last night, I was digging through the piles of books that I've left around my parents' house and I found a journal that I used during my senior year of college. I started a lot of journals over the years, but never wrote in the consistently. The one I found last night only had a handful of real entries. The rest was filled primarily with an odd assortment of quotes and passages from books. There were also several book lists (books I'd read and wanted to read). And, I guess I used it as scratch paper when I was preparing for the LSAT because a few pages were filled with logic puzzle diagrams. Immediately following that is what was probably one of my first lists of potential law schools. The list contained 19 possibilities. Of them, I actually applied to six (and six not on the list). NYU wasn't on it.
I'd also jotted down in there a poem that I read somewhere and liked a lot. Unlike a lot of the quotes in the journal, I still like it. Here it is:
One Art
Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
The practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
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