The Reasonably Prudent Law Student

Does Timbuktu even exist? Do they have an airport? A Hampton Inn? Do they have root beer? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD YOU GUYS DO THEY HAVE ROOT BEER THERE? DON’T YOU NERDS DARE SEND ME TO TIMBUKTU IF THERE IS NO ROOT BEER THERE I WILL FREAKING END YOU.

:-|

You guys.

The second semester of 2Hell starts tomorrow. Tomorrow, you guys. I have to wake up at the buttcrack of dawn (technical term; contact your nearest observatory to see what it’s called in your time zone), spend an hour trying to eat breakfast, make lunches, give my Gma everything she needs since she’s basically bed-ridden and no one’s home til the afternoon, brush my teeth, and put on my face with my entire stupid family, all of whom will be trying to do the same.

Well.

It’s safe to assume that Papa Hoomster and Darling Bro won’t be putting on their faces. But Darling Bro will probably be shaving, seeing as how he’s had a three day weekend and he NEVER shaves on the weekends and he always has a little beard and needs to tame that crap or else Mama Hoomster starts asking when she can expect his BFFs Ben, Mad Jack the Mountain Man, and Nakoma over for dinner.

We are going to drive each other BATSHIT INSANE.

We also watch a lot of classic TV.

Then I get to drive to the Naperville train station, get in a knife fight over a parking spot, limp my shearling-swathed ass over to the plaatform, ride into Chicago with all the other sardines, walk a mile to my law school, and immerse myself in sheer misery for another 14 weeks.

I’m going to be relatively incommunicado during the next 16 weeks. (Two tacked on for finals.) No more breakfast dates. No more lunches in downtown Naperville. No more rooftop parties where I have to constantly talk myself out of throwing things off the roof at the pedestrians below.

(Pedestrians. God, how I hate them.)

No more shopping sessions where I pick pretty clothes for you and you pay me in Cinnabons and quesadillas from the food court. No more Doctor Who marathons with endless root beer. No more pretend-grown-up parties where we all dress up nice and play classy music and talk about politics and art and quantum theory and where I inevitably end up falling asleep on the couch with the host’s cat sleeping on my head. And worst of all, no more French Chocolate Hour. :(

Unless Jessica goes to France again, buys another (bigger) pyramid of chocolates, hightails it to Lizzy’s IMMEDIATELY, and we all cut it into pieces like we’re doing lines and then resolve to make bookmarks out of the paper the chocolate came in.

:-D

Oh, the French.

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So, none of that. What will we have look forward to?

Blog posts. Frenzied tweets about nothing in particular. Lots of Advil, and then Advil-inspired Gchats, which are always fun and incriminating. Too much root beer. Too many sleeping pills. Angry text messages from me at 1AM demanding to know which idiot keeps letting Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson keep making movies.

(I mean, he’s awesome, but he gets RIDICULOUS scripts…AND THEN HE MAKES THOSE MOVIES. WTF. SOMEONE SAVE HIM FROM HARM AND FROM HIMSELF. THEN MAYBE HE’LL TELL US WHAT HE’S BEEN COOKING ALL THESE YEARS.)

You know. Kind of the usual, but on crack.

So I bid you farewell, gentle readers. Terples, if I may. Like turtles, but cuter. Only I’m not really going anywhere. I’ll still be here. Every day. Talking about clothes and yelling at things like a crazy person.

So I guess what I’m saying is, goodbye from the normal Huma. The well-adjusted Huma. The happy Huma. The Huma that gets enough sleep and isn’t high strung.

Tomorrow, you’ll be greeted bright and early by the Hoomster in all her glory. In all her yappy, yelly, high-strung, paranoid, sleep-deprived, Chicago-loving glory.

Did you guys know that people from the Indian subcontinent (India, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Kashmir) have the highest rates of schizophrenia in the world?

You didn’t, but you can totally see how that would be true now, right?

I knew it. I know you guys so well. That’s why we get along so famously.

Except when I hate you guys. When I really, really hate you guys. Which is often. Because, let’s be honest. You guys kind of suck. You should really work on that.