"When you're getting ready to launch into space, you're sitting on a big explosion waiting to happen." --RIP, Sally Ride

I don't mind the plunge. I don't mind the secret dread leading up to a plunge.

What I hate? Waiting after the plunge to see if my parachute is going to open or not.

And that's where I am with regards to the bar exam. By my calculations, I have 19 days before I figure out whether or not I shall crash into the ground or somehow float in a clumsy landing that doesn't involve me spending my 25th birthday wallowing in a pit of my own misery.

I've spent the last couple weeks on an extended vacation. First, Branson with my family. Then a cruise with my boyfriend and his family. But now, I'm stuck waiting. This means I should probably pick up some old hobbies I gave up while preparing for the bar.

Like working out.

And giving myself manis/pedis (because my tootsies are looking BAD).

And deep cleaning my house.

And preparing eleventy billion job applications, most of which I will not receive a response to, and the rest that will end up stringing my along or summarily dismissing me with a rejection letter (which is better than the aforementioned silence).

Somehow, I don't think this will make the waiting process any easier. Which might give credence to Blog Creeper's suggestion of a medically-induced coma.

Although I just may prefer a tequila-induced haze.