Jeremy's Weblog

I recently graduated from Harvard Law School. This is my weblog. It tries to be funny. E-mail me if you like it. For an index of what's lurking in the archives, sorted by category, click here.

Tuesday, September 02, 2003

1Ls start classes here today. A poem:

So you walk in the classroom
And locate your seat
As you wish you'd had more
Than a corn flake to eat
As you boot up your laptop
Your eyes scan the crowd
There's the ones awfully quiet
And the ones awfully loud
There are people who look
Like they've done this before
There's the people who found
The *used* books at the store
There are hands getting ready
To pounce in the air
There are those who put thought
Into what they would wear
There are guys wearing dress shirts
That seem a bit, well...
There are girls with new outfits
It's easy to tell
There are some who seem frantic
Perhaps they didn't read
So if they're the ones called on
Your prayers they may need
There are some who are breathing
So loud you can hear
They are shaking with angst
They are oozing with fear
As the teacher, she enters
All eyes turn to her
What's the class gonna be like?
What frights will occur?
She opens her casebook
She flips to the page
She welcomes you warmly
But this is *her*stage
You're not the one called on
You slowly exhale
Your fingers start typing
Each tiny detail
Of the words that are spoken
The thoughts that you hear
It's just class like all others
Away fades the fear
You have done this already
It's school, you're okay
Your mind starts to wander
Your thoughts start to stray
But you're jarred back to focus
From out of blue
The teacher looks up
And she's calling on you
And you didn't hear the question
You look down at the page
Around at your classmates
Seems *you're* now on stage
And you mumble and bumble
And feel your way through
Ask for clarification
Pray a thought comes to you
You say one thing, another
Some wrong, some okay
And then after what seems like
At least half a day
She retreats and goes after
A classmate, a friend
As your moment of terror
Has come to an end
The class ends and you exit
You ask "how'd I do?"
And you're kind of surprised
None recall it was you
Some were drifting or fading
Exactly like you
Some were in their heads thinking
Of what they would do
If the cards drew them next
No one listened to you
Sure it's nice to do well
But what can you do
And you stumble from class
Vowing better next day
But you realize it's all
Gonna turn out okay.