Halfway through our second week of classes and work, respectively, Andrew and I have sort of settled into a routine.
We leave home at 8:00 a.m. every morning and go our separate ways. I return home around 5:30 p.m. and Andrew returns home around 5:45 p.m.
We spend a couple of hours preparing and eating dinner, and after dinner I study and Andrew reads. Sometimes we study and read in the kitchen, sometimes we study and read in the living room on the sofa, and sometimes we study and read in the living room at our desk/computer/sound system unit, which accommodates two computers and two desk chairs. When Andrew and I have had enough of our studying and reading, we listen to music and Instant Message our friends and family members for an hour or ninety minutes before we turn in for the night.
Andrew and I love Instant Messaging—it allows us to keep in close, daily contact with those who are important to us who live far, far away. For instance, we learn every night about daily football practice from my brother, about life at Vanderbilt from my sister, about the day on Wall Street from Andrew’s older brother, and about every political development of the day from Andrew’s middle brother. From my parents we learn every night what’s going on in Oklahoma (generally nothing), from Andrew’s parents we learn every night what’s going on in Minnesota (generally nothing) and what the dog had for dinner (invariably some kind of meat and generally some kind of potato, too), and from our friends we learn what’s going on in Los Angeles, Washington and other places (including, if the hour is right, Singapore, Hong Kong, London, and Vienna).
I don’t know how people survived before Instant Messaging!
Law school is serious business. Students are competitive, and serious and businesslike to a fault, and almost always keen to demonstrate how ultra-bright they are (but hissed if they carry these demonstrations too far). However, most students are collegial, too.
About ten to fifteen per cent of the class does not belong in such a competitive environment, and that particular segment of the class has already figured this fact out and is suffering isolation as a result. This is regrettable, but inevitable in a system in which the bulk of the class has been admitted based upon merit, but a small segment of the class has been admitted based upon considerations having nothing to do with merit. I witnessed this same phenomenon in my undergraduate years, and Andrew, too, observed this phenomenon in both his undergraduate and his law school years.
Andrew does not object to his new job. From colleagues, Andrew learned which downtown club to join in order to be able to play tennis twice a week over lunch, and he is now busy auditioning tennis partners in order to find a handful of regular players able to play at the desired level.
Andrew and I have not been able to figure out what to do about basketball yet. We shall begin to work seriously on that project soon.
Andrew and I checked out a prospective church last Sunday, but we did not like the minister or the service or the congregation, so we shall probably check out another church next Sunday.
We are settled in now, and accustomed to our apartment. It has almost become home to us, which did not seem possible the first time we opened the door and walked into the place. It is small, but comfortable enough for us, and a place in which we can read and study and eat and sleep and rest. It is our sanctuary from the rigors of school and work, and it serves that function well enough.