Five Senses Friday IV

Feeling:

the inside of a very dry mouth. Mump-related swelling is down, but I'm still not salivating. Charming, right? If I don't constantly drink water, my tongue feels like tack and my get that white film on my parched lips. I have to pee all the time.

Smelling:
Stew. Even though I'm not hungry, it's still one of the most comforting smells.

Hearing:

Firefly. My family got addicted. It's good, but I refuse to throw myself into something so futile as a one-season show. My brother just said "Nothing like getting cock blocked by a preacher." Quality family time.

Tasting: 

Ok. I know I said I wasn't hungry, but when I saw my brother mow down some peanut butter toast I couldn't not have a slice myself. I don't let myself buy bread or peanut butter, so I had to.

Seeing:

Bed time. Stat.

Shmumps

I should be going to bed, snuggling in safe and sound with She Ra in my Toronto apartment.

I am not doing this. I am sitting on my couch in Calgary, looking like the transformative character in an Eddie Murphy movie. I, somehow, have acquired mumps. Who gets the mumps? It's like getting polio! I was even vaccinated against the mumps, but apparently failed to get my booster. So I spent 5 hours in urgent care, after having my face/neck swell to twice its normal size over night. I walked out with no answers except elevated white blood cells; this would indicate either an infection, for which there was no clear physical manifestation, or lymphoma, which the additional blood work didn't really indicate. So a phantom infection or cancer. I was given some let's-hope-for-the-best antibiotics and told to go to a hospital if it got worse.

Well it got worse.

It's funny, you assume your skin can only stretch so much. The skin on my neck got so swollen, it started encompassing my ears. It was a straight shot from the outside of my earlobe down to my shoulders. When the area started turning rock hard, it was time to get to the hospital. It's half comforting and half alarming when you realize you're getting high priority treatment in the emergency room. In my case, it meant a couple hours wait until I had IV fluids and morphine, and another hour until I got in for a CT scan. My allergy to anti-inflammatories put me at a serious disadvantage - they could treat the pain with morphine, but every time it wore off the swelling had increased, and the pain along with it. Finally they settled on the diagnosis: a very serious manifestation of mumps.

Which means now I'm at home, taking tylenol (I'm discovering I'm allergic to percocet, unfortunately), on self-quarantine for a week. Which means I'm not allowed to fly. Grounded, if you would. And missing the first week of class in favour of sitting on my couch, not eating, not seeing my much missed friends. Oh yeah, And I look like I'm massively overweight. What a treat.

Get your booster shots, kiddos.

Dreaming of Rain

I am overjoyed to be the new owner of  a classic, raglan sleeve, long Burberry trench. Overjoyed. I asked for a rain coat for Christmas. 

As I wandered around Holt Renfrew with my mum on the day before Christmas, and as we toured through the Burberry section I remarked "I know I will have made it in life when I own a Burberry trench." Well, I don't think I've made it, so I will have to come up with a new measure of success, but for now I get to figure out how I can make this timeless piece part of my wardrobe.

First thought; pair the trench with my new faux-Marant wedge sneakers and faux-leather leggings. Something rugged and modern. There is a definite rock-n-roll undercurrent to my style. I definitely take note on what Rihanna is wearing and take inspiration, channeling her leather ensembles, albeit in a slightly tamer, every day, Canadian way.

Or, on the other hand...
  

Maybe something more traditional. I realize that, as I move towards a professional career, my favourite spiked ring may prove more of a detriment than an indicator of my spot-on style. So a more classic, feminine look to pair with the trench, with clean lines and simple colours.

Sometimes it makes me sad that I don't have a distinct personal style. I'm much more of a chameleon, taking on and appreciating a variety of looks. I'm never going to inspire anyone with my style though. But if it means I could wear this trench like a 1930s starlet or like Rihanna I will take versatility over a distinct aesthetic.

Retreat

December is probably one of my most anticipated months of the year. It signals my birthday, Christmas, and the New Year. But, for all that, it doesn't make for much of a genuine break. I came straight from exams (or, more accurately, my post-exam party, hangover in tow), and was whisked immediately off to a much needed appointment with my hair dresser, the mall for last minute shopping, my aunt's Christmas party, a visit with my Grandma, and suddenly it was Christmas. With errands and jet lag and two days of -20 snow storms, I have yet to see any of my beloved friends, in fact. If all these flurry of activity weren't enough, between Christmas and New Year I always find myself overwhelmed with the pressure of New Years plans. So, for perhaps the fourth year in a row, I have simply opted out. For true relaxation and an unequivocal break, I have escaped to the Rockies. 

 

My whole family has escaped to our cabin in Waterton Lakes National Park. I plan to do little more than laze by the fire, get a leisurely start on my readings, and allow the clean air and fresh water to cleanse my skin and my soul. Here's a glimpse. Get ready to get jealous.

Being at the cabin means sweaters and leggings and afternoon naps, not concealer and mascara.

So, however you choose to spend your New Year, surrounded by glitter and bubbles and friends, or snow and deer tracks, enjoy it. Tabula rasa everyone. See you in the brand spankin' new year.

I Survived the Apocalypse

I am not speaking of the Mayan apocalypse. I'm talking about the apocalypse that is a law student's first round of exams. Ah, what fresh hell it is. For over a month I felt the constant nagging guilt of feeling as though any energy not expended on the law was energy poorly expended. So you have my apologies. I know I am always apologizing. But, though it was a conversation fuelled by gin and tonic, I made a blogging vow with a classmate of mine. It may even lead to a cool collabo. But first things first - to nurture and love my once and future blog. 'Tis the season, isn't it?

Speaking of, have you seen a more idyllic Christmas picture? An argument could perhaps be made for switching the wine for egg nog, and hanging some additional stockings above the fire (there is my cat's stocking up there, hardly in the frame. It's white and reads "Cats love Christmas too." Which is funny, because my cat could hardly be said to love anything at all, except most certainly sleep and food, and occasionally me, but I suspect that is in large part because I facilitate the latter of her two most constant and unerring loves).

But this is exactly how I envision spending my Christmas break. Blowing off commitments to go out and socialize, which would require trekking into the cold and braving trecherous roads in horrendous weather, in favour of staying in with a glass of truly fabulous red wine, Bernard Callebaut chocolate cherries and a roaring fire. I am aged before my time.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Like a Devil's, sick of sin

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,

Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,

And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,

But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots

Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling

Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—

Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est

Pro patria mori.

--Wilfred Owen 

Remembrance Day does not glorify war. Remembrance Day is an opportunity to reflect on war, its horrors, its losses, and the sacrifice of those involved. It is not political. It is reverent.

#4 - Shake It Off, or, Taking up the Mantel

My lovely friend Kathy had a blog, once upon a time. I feel like we are the generation of people who will have "had blogs." Because we are, if HBO's Girls has taught me anything, the generation of self-indulgent prima donnas who want to talk about our feelings and our emotions and try to leave behind a relic of our humanity. Or something like that, right? And then we are all going to get hit in the face with the concrete brick of reality, with real life deadlines and commutes and relationships and commitments. And thus, we abandon our navel-gazing revelry and get to work. Well don't you fret - while I completely understand my friends' abandoning their blogs for real life - I am too big a narcissist and too poor at prioritizing to give up blogging for anything less than being, meh, just too lazy. But as long as there is work to do and a library for me to sit in fruitlessly, there will be blog posts.

The point that I have been dancing around is that I am going to take up the mantel of one of Kathy's last, abbreviated, blog projects. She found a moral imperative to provide law students with tips for surviving law school. She only got three tips in, which should probably leave me with a sense of foreboding, but I find myself wanting to pick up where she left off. Because law school is overwhelming, and taking a step back to re-evaluated and decide what is important and what paths need to be taken strikes me as helpful for me and hopefully illuminating for others.

I do this, however, realizing that I begin this undertaking with the optimistic view that I will survive law school, and the humility that I almost certainly don't have any actual answers. I am no pro at law school. But I am prone to navel gazing [see above] and so occasionally am given a moment of clarity where things that are self evident become so again, after being crush by my Torts textbook or my Legal Process deadline.

Shake it Off

As you will hear, law school can be cut throat. Take every smarty pants who did well in school who you ever knew, put them together in one class, and tell them that an A (and therefor a prestigious 1st year internship that could very well lay the groundwork for their entire career) is entirely contingent not on how well they know the subject matter, or how hard they've studied or even how well they do on their exams - that A is entirely contingent on you doing better than your fellow smarty pants.

I'm not Jewish, but let me just say; Oy.

My experience has thus far not been the horror story that Selma Blair painted for me in Legally Blonde (my personal quintessential law school film). A lot of people in my classes are really supportive and helpful, and virtually no one goes out of their way to make sure their classmates don't understand a concept. 

But there will be comments. "Oh, well if that works for you, then I guess go ahead." "Do you have all your summaries done yet? Because I do, but I'm worried they aren't thorough enough." Just the other day, after trying to assure a friend of mine that she had time to eat lunch, I was on the receiving end of "I'm behind. You're really behind, but that doesn't mean I'm not behind."

Excusemewhat? I'm sure I looked like I had been slapped. It hurt. It was mean. But I have the confidence that it wasn't intended to hurt or come across as mean. It almost certainly came from a place of insecurity and stress that had exactly nothing to do with me.

And that's when and why you need to shake it off. You can spend all day freaking out about whether or not you're behind, or you can just go ahead make sure it's not true. Mind games - and whether mind games are actually being played, or we all just read way too much into other people's actions, is an assumption I would certainly contest - are not going to help you.

what is more likely to help you is this picture of a Puli jumping. Or "shaking it off," if you will.

We all (hopefully) are going to go be lawyers, and that probably means some of us will work with each other. So don't be a douche. But if some one is a douche, don't vilify them. Shake it off, and realize that we're all probably a little stressed.