Hey Now, Hey Now (this is what dreams are made of...)

I had a terrible nightmare about cats last night. Cats of the domestic variety. Not the Broadway variety. My family moved back into our old house because that was the only place the refrigerator would work. We lived with our dog Zoe and six mean cats. They kept jumping on my head. Then I went to the mall and ran into my boyfriend, who was running around the mall in a suit playing some sort of fantasy WOW-esque game with his twenty-something year old friends who looked 17.

Sean, I've got to start tuning out the talk about orc-shamans and blood elves. I'll just think of Edward Cullen. And the Indian werewolf kid. Nod and smile. ;)

I just don't think the office is my place. I've made an art out of coffee making and oatmeal eating. And I can use paperclips like nobody's business. Oh, it's 5 o'clock somewhere.

Have I mentioned lately that I HATE making decisions? I'm hoping an answer will fall out of the sky. When I least expect it. Just like boyfriends are supposed to.

Dear Lord Jesus (yeah, I call him by two names, what of it?), I'd like to phone a friend. Yes. The prophet Daniel. To interpret my dreams. No. Not the one about the cats. Yes, there was that time with the lions. The recurring dream I had during law school. The one about never showing up to English and Spanish classes I was supposed to pass to graduate. The one where I was too busy with law classes to do my homework and show up. Does that mean I have unfinished business there? Oh. It means I shouldn't eat before bed? Gotcha.

Strip me of my pride and need for prestige. Patience is a virtue. Now back to my receipts...

A Quarter-Life Crisis, or Just a Stirrin' in My Soul?

OH DEAR.

What a week it has been. And it's only...Wednesday? Do I want to share the whole nitty-gritty story? Yes. Eventually. Just not now. I just feel the need to write right now so I can breathe.

I am at a complete and total crossroads right now. Decisions to make. Have some been made for me? Soon enough we'll see. I would just first like to send out a huge thank you to TylenolPM for allowing me to talk to my parents for an hour without sobbing uncontrollably and then shove a bowl of cereal down my throat without vomiting, and also for keeping me knocked out til the early morning hours in a dreamless sleep. I really believe that TylenolPM is basically Xanax...but with a sleep aid. Kelly gave me a Xanax at my mother's insistence when Brandon broke up with me the week before exams and I started hyperventilating. He loved me. We were getting married. He was the one! Now I spread the gospel of Taylor Swift. You do the math.

Before we continue, rest easy. I am not pregnant. I am not engaged. I am not terminally ill. Not that being pregnant or engaged are bad things. You know what I mean, right? Oh nevermind. I know you do.

I just may not continue on with law school, that's all. That's all. I wrote that so non-chalantly. Just keep me in your prayers that the Lord will lead me where I'm supposed to be. I may take some time off. I may press on. I may not ever go back. My original plan for if I didn't go back to school was faking my death and moving to Mexico. Sweat all day with my pool boy Javier. Play with the little native children. "Como se llaman, ninos? No soy 'child molester.' Ven aqui" I just wasn't sure I could swallow my pride and not continue. I thought I had my future figured out. I don't. That's scary as hell. It's also exciting to think about the options I do have. Just don't think less of me. At least I gave it a shot.

So what now? Wait and see. Listen for that still small voice. Because, as we Baptists say, God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good. It's me I have to worry about...

A Blog with A Lot of Taylor Swift and Horse References

I started to blog last week but thought better of it because this is what I ended up with:

I've spent the past six days that I've been home feeling incredibly sorry for myself, sobbing uncontrollably and dreaming up worst-case-scenarios for my future that end with me being alone, morbidly obese, unloved, and making minimum wage. This leads to more boo-hooing and my sitting half-dressed in pajamas on my futon-bed with liquid eyeliner streaming down my face as I whisper to myself, "I'm not a princess. This ain't a fairytale." It's like a trailer-park version of a Taylor Swift song.

Charming, I know. Now that I've mostly recovered from my little pity party hangover, I feel better equipped to handle the mammoth task that is blogging.

The grades are slowly rolling in, and thank goodness for that! So far, so much better than last semester. It was one humbling learning experience for sure. Somewhere along the way to law school I lost my cut-throat competitive edge. It's amazing what some people do just to get ahead, though. I've had complete tools tell me they stopped briefing cases or doing outlines because it was overrated (I'm not an idiot, hurrrr). Then somebody tells you they overheard that very person psyching themselves in front of the bathroom mirror before moot court. Yeah man. No em-effin' worries here. Life is but a dream. I'm just happy to be improving and keeping my head above water right now. I most definitely needed to be humbled.

Apart from having to adjust to being long-distance for the summer, things are all good on the relationship front. And that's all you get.

On a related note, I think relationships have to be the scariest things in the world. It's wedding season, but I've stumbled across broken engagement after broken engagement after divorce (?!) on Facebook (the equal opportunity stalker) lately. It's probably good that Disney has made the shift from fairy-tale princess movies to movies about dogs and superheroes and such. Another valuable life lesson I've learned this year is what BS the notion of "happily ever after" truly is. I hate to beat a dead "White Horse," but I think Miss Swift might be right: You aren't a princess. This ain't a fairytale. Go to school and don't settle for an MRS degree. Learn how to do for yourself. Of course, it's okay to let him open doors and buy you dinner. Just don't fool yourself into thinking that when you know, you know, and that love conquers all. I tried that once. I think it takes more.

Tara is leaving me soon to go back to Buffalo. I thought she was here to stay, but she disappoints me once again. Never mind that I'll be in Knoxville only another two months; I'm the only one allowed to go off and have a life in a different city. Ironically though, I have friends who seem to actually have that mindset. Forget the fact that I'm consumed by school, that I buy my own groceries, do my own laundry, pay my own rent, and clean my own apartment! When I have free time I'm supposed to sit in my apartment and make phone calls that will go unanswered while they're out having lives. Nope, that's not balanced. Cue guilt trip. In the words of Jason Mraz (whom I mostly despise, by the way): the telephones, well, they're workin' 'em both ways.

Being home for the summer is not as bad as I thought it was last week. It's nice having a dog for a pet once more (Jim, please don't take offense to that. You're the best guinea pig a pet owner could ask for. Don't die while I'm gone.), and I've enjoyed going walking/running with my Mom. She's my captive audience and I can tell her anything. Literally. That is one perk of growing up I suppose. I do miss Memphis more than I anticipated. I guess I've established a life there, with my cute apartment and friends and boyfriend and routine. I think this coming fall should be a good one. I feel that good things are in store. In the meantime, I'm trying to stay busy making some money and finishing up the Twilight series. Reading alone could take the whole summer since I have the attention span of a third grader. Curse you, Bella Swan.

Time to get off my high horse and get back down to earth. Look for more BS revelations from Amy Pratt in the near future.

PS-Please pardon the weird thing my font is doing with the size and junk. I'm paragraph-setting illiterate.

Coming Soon...

...a blog about ending the first year of law school. Must neglect it for now, or else there won't be a second year of law school.

In the meantime:

• The guinea pigs are fine, and very straight. Jim still loves the pink igloo and confetti colored litter.
  
• I had a flat tire at Taco Bell yesterday. Thank you Jesus for Triple A.
  
• I found a straight man to date. I swear. He has no idea who Vera Wang is, and you should see his shoes.
  
• I have no clue where I am living this summer or what I am doing.
  
• I love my life in Memphis. Knoxville, if I don't return your phone calls or keep you updated on every little thing, I'm sorry. It's hard to keep up with you and establish a life here!
• Twice this year I have woken myself up in the morning by throwing punches. This can't be good. I also talk in my sleep now.
  
• Finally saw Twilight! Boys, quit your bitchin' about girls being all gaga over Edward Cullen. We know he's unrealistic and we should get a real man. We'll do that as soon as you learn how to keep it in your pants.
  
• I have a highlighter-buying compulsion. Every time I go to Target...

Full paragraphs will return circa May 8, 2009.

That's More Like It

My #1 concern of the day is that Kelly's guinea pig, James, is being a complete bully to my guinea pig, Jim. She says they are playing. I say they are not. I think that Jim is having a crisis, that he's possibly "coming out" of his pink igloo castle, and that James is a big homophobe. Or it could be that James is taunting Jim about his dry skin, or his un-cool hair. Anytime Jim is eating on the cabbage kabob, James pushes him out of the way. He chases him and won't leave him alone. Today I yelled "James, you a******, leave my Jimmy alone!" and he did. He knows what he's doing. Hrrmmph.

In other news, yesterday I had to draw some pictures for Kelly for her to analyze for school. I drew a tree, a house, and a person. My crayola drawings indicate I have depression, sexual frustration, tension, and that I need attention. That about sums it up.

The quote of the week comes from my property book, talking about whether or not an implied warranty is a tort or contract concept or maybe a (wait for it, wait for it) "freak hybrid born of the illicit intercourse of tort and contract." I don't even want to THINK about torts and contracts having intercourse and producing a freak-hybrid love-child. If any areas need to be having intercourse, it's property and contracts, all those dang real estate contracts and clauses and stuff. Still. That was a visual I could do without.

Now I am going to do something of substance. I just had all these things swirling in my head and I knew I needed to get them out once silent, moving lips began to accompany my inner monologue. My sister calls me out on that one. Frequently.

A Very Cliche Blog and Then Some

The amorphous "they," as my high school English teacher always put it, were right: the grass is always greener on the other side.

I've been on Spring Break about 72 hours or more, if you count the weekend, and at about hour 64, I ran back to my OneNote program and broke open the Civ Pro binder for a little outlining fun. Yeah, it really is a have-to, unless I'd like to make my time after break a little more chaotic, but I've pretty much determined that I have to stay busy to keep from thinking too much. Not that I think about anything of substance, but if I don't keep a check on myself, my imagination runs away from me. And let me tell ya, my imagination is active. And no, I don't mean like that, pervert.

Have I already been over how that Britney Spears' song "Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" is how I feel about life in general right now? I took my sister to the hospital today for some blood work. The check-in lady and the male nurse both referred to me as "mom." My sister is almost 14! I was not even wearing my mom jeans, thank you very much. So I look old enough to have procreated, but I have not undertaken that crucial step which would enable me to procreate, if you catch my drift. Which leads me to my next point.

It shouldn't bother me, but it does. I feel like I see on Facebook 100 girls a week getting engaged. They're all my age or younger. Don't get me wrong; I'm in no way mature enough or even school/career-wise at the point where I could be in a relationship of this magnitude. I just feel like my growth in that area of my life has been stunted. Always. What does it say about me that the two "serious" relationships I've had have been with guys who later came out of the closet? I try to make light of it as best I can, but there's no denying that at the end of the day, it bothers me. I think I run straight men off because I'm over-eager. I see something I want and I go for it. I'm slowly learning that's not the way things work. I just get so angry at myself that I have the desire for non-platonic male companionship, especially when I don't have the time, especially especially when my heart is set in a certain place and I know deep down that that desire will never come to fruition. Just like Charlie Brown said, nothing ruins the taste of peanut butter like unrequited love.

Ok, please don't mistake that as a cry to the male population for a date. Just something that's consistently on my heart that I had to get off my chest. Forgive me if that was a little too personal.

Alright. I vow to enjoy Spring Break to the fullest until I run back to Memphis and start the same old song and dance again, claiming to be miserable with the endless work, while I secretly enjoy it.

As I Lay Brief-Writing: My Faulkner Stream of Consciousness Blog

You're right. They're all stream-of-consciousness. So be it.

I'm tired of establishing that immigrants do not have a well-founded fear of persecution for the purposes of this brief.

I wish I could unsubscribe from certain Facebook statuses, mainly the ones by college-educated people who misuse my beloved apostrophe on a day-to-day basis. I also hate when people don't proofread. It takes a literal second.

Today I realized I'm am pop-culturally irrelevant. I was running to Soulja Boy's "Crank dat" and realized that I don't remember how to "superman dat hoe." This is Memphis, for cryin' out loud! I also received an email that one of my friends would like to keep up with me via Twitter. I first thought it was either pornographic or something for hummingbirds. Then I saw that people updated Facebook via Twitter. I still don't know what it is exactly, but I think it is technologically related.

I'm ELATED to be in Knoxville in a few days. After rendezvous-ing with the fam and babysitting my little "babe" Stephen, I'm going to spend as much time on UT's campus as possible. I would like: sweet-potato fries on Wine Night at Sunspot; to skip down the pedestrian walkway and jump all over the UT seal; get an escort to the new SK floor in Laurel and scream down the hallway; do Sudoku in the Daily Beacon in the ampitheathre; Facebook on a computer in The Commons; eat greasy pizza at Smokey's; pass Wayne Chism on my way into Humanities; have myself surgically removed from half-court of Thompson-Boling; drink a SoCo and Lime at Half Barrell; and yes, even take the 90-something steps up The Hill. I miss that place like nobody's business. So...if anybody wants to help me make those dreams come true, you know how to find me.

Ok, back to the brief. I have nothing more to say.