So much to discuss

Hello blog! Hello blog readers! Hello the Internets! Sorry I've neglected you for well over a week. I blame Evidence, First Amendment and Criminal Ho-cedure, all of which sucked my time, sanity, wit and charm from me last week, but as I emerge from the tunnel of law school finals doom (emerge, mind you...it's not over til Thursday), I find myself bursting with e-updates for you. Also, when school ends, that means two weeks of time to...drumroll....READ FOR PLEASURE. So please prepare your suggestions. Now for the e-updates on my thoughts and feelings.

First, I've been having the weirdest dreams since this baby started growing in me body. For example, last night I dreamed we parked our car in a parking structure, not realizing that to save space, the structure magically shrunk the cars as soon as we left. So we had to look for our car with a magnifying glass, and the man working there helped us find our teensy car, and afterwards I tried to invite him over for dinner as a thank you, and he said I had tried to re-activate him last time we were there and he still wasn't interested in the gospel. What does it MEAN? Is our baby a prophetess and trying to send me messages? Maybe I just need more bedtime snacks. Then, my stomach will be hard at work as I slumber, distracting my brain.

Another example: last week, I woke up and told husband: "I just dreamed that instead of a baby, I laid twelve eggs." Not huge like ostrich eggs, but not teensy like the "large" ones at the grocery, either (do I sound hip and/or European if I just call it "the grocery"?). I kept them warm like a good mama bird. Does this mean I'll barf into our baby's mouth to feed her when she's born? Point to ponder.

Second, in studying for things like law school (which, believe it or not, I often enjoy), I realized I have an intense fear of becoming a CB. That's right. Corporate Bastard. I won't, though, right? CBs depress me. I know we all start out saying we want to help people, and others laugh at our idealistic ways, but for crying out loud, when PEOPLE need lawyers it's because they need help, and I want to help them. When people or companies hire CBs it's because they screwed over the little guy and need help muffling his cries, and my job would be to smother the little guy with a pillow, then get in my ritzy but-in-a-boring-way ritzy car and go to our house and kiss our kids on the cheek when the nanny goes home, then take them to the country club. PLEASE. NO. I need substance in my life. Or maybe I just need to watch more Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous and less Erin Brocovich, and I'll feel better. Next week, I'm halfway done with law school, which means if you round up, I'm basically finished, and if I still have (relatively) moral motives this far in, I'll totally be okay, right? Right? KULACB....new club...Knocked Up Lawyers Against Corporate Bastardization. Watch for an upcoming membership drive.

Third, in early college, I was at a store (not the grocery) and I saw some normal, kind-looking young moms chatting in line. I remember smiling to myself, imagining that perhaps I would one day be them, then throwing up in my mouth a little when I heard they were talking about wallpaper and stenciling. WALLPAPER. Can you believe this? Are you as shocked as my 18 year old self was?? It's not that they were talking about it, as much as it was that they were talking about it so enthusiastically. Since then, I have had a desperate fear of becoming them. So if I ever blog about wallpaper (not in an "I just remodeled the H out of my home" way, like The Summerill Surf, which is inspirational and outstanding, not lame), but if I ever start talking about ridiculous things like they are awesome, I want you to come find me. Intervene like they do for AA, reader. The first step toward recovery. HELP ME IF I BECOME THAT. This may be part of why I have such negative feelings toward learning to cook or craft, because I am afraid that it is all I will do, and all I will talk about. Some of those people freak me out. Note that if you cook and/or craft, I still respect you. You just freak me out a little.

Fourth, I am three years old when it comes to husband and Christmas presents. As soon as I get him something, I have to tell him or I'll explode. Is this normal? Also, we still don't have a tree. Is that bad? Maybe we'll get one tonight. We're totally tree-ready, though, so good for us. What else should I get him? Shoot. He reads this. Give any suggestions you have in code, with the first letter of each word spelling out the item. For example, you want me to get him socks, you say Snuggle Often Creepy Kite Sinker. Nevermind. NOW HE KNOWS THE CODE. See what I mean about not keeping secrets?

Fifth, I might be a hippie on the inside. I only want our kid to play with blocks. Will this pass?

Sixth, I need to write a brief about protective sweeps, which I don't like nearly as much as complaining about CBs. So, I'll carry on with the brief writing now. But if you want to join the club, let me know. We might need a more inclusive name, FLAL. Future Lawyers Against Lame. No, come on Gurrbonz, more inclusive. You don't need to be an FL. How about just PAL. People Against Lame. PAL, unite!

We can design our own wallpaper.