Did I mention I want to go home?

Okay, there was one positive event today: after I got some of that snow off my car and completed the laborious process of getting to work, where I handed in a memo I'd been working on since last week, the attorney complemented my work, saying I had done a very good and very thorough job, especially considering I had only a semester of law school. Only a week of law school, I told him. Even more impressive, then, he said. So, good going Miss H, give yourself a pat on the back. I can do this. I have an attorney-approved writing sample that I can send out with my summer job applications. I'm going to try to do a big batch tomorrow.

But I'm tired and sick and driving in the snow is no fun. That allegedly wasn't a lot of snow, but it seemed like too much to me. Anyway, we got more in the far-south suburbs than they did in the district, oddly enough. My aunt and uncle, both school teachers, had a snow day today. But not me. More snow on Thursday night, they say.
Maybe Friday I'll get a snow day. Only a week and a half to go. The song that made me cry today: "Take Me to the Mardi Gras," Paul Simon with the Dixie Hummingbirds

I'm congested and headachy and exhausted, but nevertheless I was going to go to afternoon arguments at the Supreme Court today--but their website lied: there are no afternoon arguments, and morning arguments get seated at 7 a.m., according to the nice SCOTUS police officer. Screw that. I did witness a bunch of people congregated outside, waving signs having to do with today's argument about federal funds for
universities being contingent on full support of military recruiting on campus, despite the fact that the military discriminates against homosexuals. Tomorrow
will be the last day of arguments while I am here, but I don't think it's worth getting up at 4:30 on a cold winter morning. I hate early morning and I hate winter.

I want to go home, but I know it's going to be bad when the formerly cheerful and unapologetically shallow columnist Chris Rose is writing columns about suicide, despair and tragedy: http://www.nola.com/living/t-p/index.ssf?/base/living-5/1133851880209270.xml

But soon enough I will see for myself.

My aunt thinks I'm deep.