Upon the conclusion of my previous semester, I thought that I had learned my lesson, that I had suffered enough from outlining at the last minute that I would not repeat my folly. But alas, I have once more proven to be overly presumptuous of my abilities to do work prior to the penultimate weekend. Over the past two days I have tossed and toiled within the hallowed halls of the law library, being forcibly removed by the staff against my will in the evenings and arriving as the sleep-deprived undergrads open the doors in the morn. Two dozen hours in I have merely sniffed the halfway point and have become afeard that, like the rule of perpetuities, the finish line evades my possible understanding. She is little more than an ethereal ideal that is too far to be imagined, let alone comprehended. Fewer than a handful of days remain before I must combat the foul beast, and yet I have yet to even form concepts of a weapon to conjure forth. Perhaps at the conclusion of 1L, I shall understand what it means to "plan ahead", but I suspect that the pit of procrastination will summon me once more. I doubt I will ever overcome that siren song.
But then I once more hear the voice of the angels calling down to me, reminding me of an eternal truth.
No matter what
Fuggit we ball