Ballyhoo

“Ballyhoo” is actually a word. It has no direct relevance to this post. I just really like that word.

So I went to that meeting last night and calmly and as professionally as possible set forth my case as to why I felt it was inappropriate for a student representative to use matters brought before him in that capacity as fodder for a not-so-nice webblog. To his credit, the student about whose webpage I was talking took my criticism very calmly and professionally in return, and I appreciated that. It went much smoother than I’d feared it might.

And I felt better afterwards. That’s the best part about doing something like that. Sure, it’s uncomfortable anticipating it. And it’s not “fun” while it’s happening by any stretch of the imagination. But it isn’t terrible, and after the fact, there’s a certain sense of relief, or satisfaction, that sort of settles in… because it’s a comforting feeling that regardless of the other person’s choices of actions from here on out, I did what I knew was right and I did it in a neutral, professional manner. That’s a nice feeling. It isn’t pride, it isn’t accomplishment… it’s just sort of, well, I guess feeling like I brought myself back into balance. Like I saw a situation that I knew how I was supposed to respond to, and until I did, I felt a bit out of balance. Then once I did what I knew I should, things felt balanced again. I like balanced.

Gah! The UPS man just showed up at my door to deliver my MPRE (the professional ethics portion of the Bar exam that I have to take in November) study materials, and I’m still in my nightshirt and Ugg boots. I mean, I’ve been up and doing stuff for several hours now, but on Mondays and Fridays I have a tendency to get out of bed and go to work while still dressed in my nightclothes and Uggs. They’re just so darned comfy! Plus, there’s something mildly amusing to me about cruising through a few hours worth of work… in my PJs. With Baby Bert at my side. While pausing to talk to my hyperactive gerbil. And when my brain cramps up and refuses to process information, I take a break and watch the latest episode of Judge Judy, or My Fair Brady. Seriously, this all makes “work” so much more bearable.

But I do not like getting “caught” by the UPS man in my nightshirt. I feel the urge to explain to him why I’m still in my nightshirt at 10:30. To justify my non-laziness, despite appearances to the contrary. And then I realize? He’s the UPS man. Me in my nightshirt probably doesn’t even break the top 25 odd things he’s seen… this week alone. And? He’s a busy man. He probably doesn’t have the leisure time to catalogue my outfits each time he stops here. Though if he does? I’d like to see that list. I bet it’s funny.

I dreamt last night that my car got stolen. From school. And I had to ride to the home of a family of very nasty older women who didn’t want to speak to me and thought I was a burden, and I didn’t know them… so why I had to go to their house when my car got stolen is beyond me. I kept trying to get ahold of my parents to ask them to come get me, but I couldn’t reach them, and the one woman kept insisting I owed her a dinner for every minute of long distance charges I put on her phone bill. Dad finally found me. And then I had to pick from a selection of like five cars to replace mine–but they were all like huge boats and I knew I was going to hit stuff and I wouldn’t be able to drive or park them decently. My dreams? Seriously unusual. This one was pretty tame, in comparison. The most recent dream prior to this one involved, in one tiny subchapter of the overall epic, giant spiders who could release digestive acid from their stomachs and thereby digest human faces. I wish I was kidding. They ate a baby and its mother at a tent-motel (I dunno, it was a dream) where I was staying. Disturbing.

With that pleasantry, I bid adieu for now. I have work to be done… in my nightshirt and Uggs.