divine angst

Well, I was doing pretty well with not fretting or stressing about my applications not being in yet. Or, at least, I thought I was doing well with that. But considering Mr. Angst has asked me every day for the last three days what’s wrong with me, I think I should reevaluate my stress level.

Honestly, I’m freaked out. I wouldn’t be—or I say I wouldn’t be—if my LSAT score had been 2 points higher. I wouldn’t be if LSAC were processing letters of recommendation quickly. In other words, I wouldn’t be freaked out if I weren’t so worried that my LSAT schore and application delay were going to kill my chances of getting into the schools I want to go to.

Tonight I talked to my best friend for a while, and explained the whole stupid letter of recommendation holdup on my applications and how I was truly worried that all this waiting would completely destroy my getting into my top schools. And she said, “You know what they say about the guy who graduates at the bottom of his law school class? They say he has a law degree. You’ll be fine no matter where you go.”

And I know she’s right. But I am so nervous right now! Nervous that I won’t get into a good school, nervous that the schools I get into won’t be good enough for me to actually enter legal academia. And it’s getting me down. I need to snap out of it and I don’t really know how right now. (It doesn’t help that I stepped on the scale today and realized that the yoga classes I haven’t been going to and the gym trips I’ve been skipping have not been good for me.)

So I’m worried-nervous-fretful and feel fat. Basically, I’m down.

A year ago, Mr. Angst and I bought a car. A newish car—of the certified pre-owned species. It’s a good car, reliable and fairly cushy. It’s a near-luxury vehicle.

Today, Mr. Angst called me to say that our transmission was shot. The car—our beautiful car!—was bucking and wheezing. Any attempt to exceed 25 mph resulted in RPMs over 5000.

Urk.

This is why I don’t like cars. They fail. Even the best cars fail. I have a small economy car for myself and it is more than enough auto for me. Because it was cheap—and is now paid for—I don’t worry as much about it failing. It was cheap! It drinks cheap gas!

But the nice car, the car we spent three months looking for, the car we drove 200 miles to buy so we could get the best deal? That car has failed.

I am bothered by the immediate depreciation of an automobile. Dealership requirements—spend hundreds of dollars every 15,000 miles just to keep your warranty valid—vex me. Gas is expensive, and more expensive on a nicer car, and this infuriates me.

For a time, I rode the bus to work every day. I lived half a block from the stop and the bus took me directly outside my building. It was delightful. I got lots of reading done on the bus; I could go home for lunch because the round trip only took 25 minutes. I saved money, used my legs, and never had to scavenge for a parking space.

But I don’t live in that neighborhood anymore. Bus service to our current area is ridiculously scant, particularly for a neighborhood that is in the middle of our city. And my current job is not in a central location, as the last one was. So I have to drive. And I hate it.

The failing car is being repaired—for free, since there is, apparently, a known problem with transmissions on that make and model. And we have a cute, sporty loaner. But I’d much rather take a bus or a train.

Why, oh why, weren’t drops the treatment of choice for my lazy eyes? Three years of elementary school with a patch was no fun, no fun at all.

Funnily, my eyes still have a tendency to cross when I am tired. This really freaks out my husband. I can also move my eyes sort of independently of one another; that also makes his skin crawl. It’s a fun party trick.