And then I look at the word count.
Fuck it anyway, two people will read this: Kapes and Professor Lawr. Well, four if you count Olivia who I cooked dinner for and Dan who I bribed with a bottle of wine to proofread. I sincerely doubt that anyone gives a shit about what a narcissistic, self-absorbed, arrogant 3L (is there any other kind?) says about anything.
I sure don't, and I'm writing the paper.
As anyone who has ever met me in real-life can attest, I'm completely neurotic about grades. Especially where Kapes is concerned. She has a very high estimation of my academic abilities (probably higher than I really deserve). I have this mortal dread of disappointing her.
On the other hand, the final exams period of your final law school semester is an experience that is soul-sucking on a level that I didn't previously know existed. You're just flat worn-out. Completely apathetic. You've been through the drill, outline, study, review, yadda-yadda-yadda, and you just can't help but think: what's the point? I've given three years, countless hours, a dress size, my stomach lining, healthy lung tissue, two gray hairs and 150 grand to this place. I don't care about issue-spotting anymore. Just let me out! I want to see sunlight!
Even the knowledge that without this paper I will not graduate is not enough to spur me into a rockstar speed-writing session. Every sentence is like pulling teeth. I feel like Sisyphus pushing that rock up the hill. I push and I push and I push, and I still have 2,500 words to go. This grade-neurosis combined with my lack of motivation is a lethal combination.
Keep on rockin', Sisyphus.