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So, how are you, Karla?

Yesterday, I've been afforded a law school miracle by way of suspension of classes. Our prof for Legal Methods decided to not hold class due to the inclement weather and for the first time in a long while, I had faith in the universe again. No kidding. I seriously needed that break.

Law school is tough. I'm saying this as plainly and simply as it could get - because what else is there to say? It just really is difficult, period. I thought I loved it enough, I thought I wanted it enough. But apparently, no amount of Ally McBeal and Suits can ever make one prepared for what's out here. In the TV shows, we never see the lawyers reading cases, and we hardly ever hear them complain about getting called for a bad recitation or a failing mark. (Well, they sure don't talk about their law school experiences, do they?) Sure, they lose in court or they get yelled at by clients. But at the end of the day, they have their swanky offices or hot, muscled co-workers to affirm them - and balance is restored. Their egos remain intact, and all is right in the world again.

Meanwhile, I'm still trying to figure out how to just get through everyday.

Suddenly, my days have been divided into either reading cases or reciting them. I hardly have time for sleep. My bookshelves are already getting filled with readings, and we're barely halfway into the semester. All my money's being spent on photocopied cases. I rarely ever see people outside law school anymore.

It's exhausting. Law school is hardly forgiving - one never feels like you've done enough, one never feels like you're deserving of anything. It's like a jealous, clingy mistress, they say. It eats you up, it tears you apart. It can get to you - especially deep into the night, like while you're reviewing for an impossible exam with 137 cases, and you realize you only have three hours before class - it can really get to you; it can make you question what you want and why you want them. It can make you feel like maybe all the mental, emotional, and physical torture's just not worth it; you'd rather keep your sanity than pride.

Sometimes, I think, when will it get easier? Will it ever? Sometimes, I wish I still had someone to share all this with, so that at the very least I'd have an anchor, some constant I can hold onto. It can all get so frustrating that perhaps even just fingers in between mine would suffice and give things a sense of being kept together. And then sometimes, I just resign myself to the thought that perhaps I'm better off handling all this on my own than having someone who would probably not understand anyway.

I'm tired, yes. I'm confused, yes. But I'm also still just here. I have nowhere to go and have no place else to be.  I earned my spot here. I have no choice but to muddle through the best way I can and just get going. Maybe it's going to get better soon enough, maybe it won't. But at least despite everything I'm uncertain of right now, there is one thing I'm sure of, one thing that cannot be denied: I'm here.

And I guess I'm staying.