At ten o' clock tonight I returned to my apartment after finally finishing class for the day. I had to open that blue book one more time to make sure Professor Fondacaro had not made a mistake on my practice exam. Last week in Criminal Law we were given 75 minutes to analyze a case and break each element down into a four page legal analysis, hard-core junk when compared to my usual multiple choice, fill-in-the-blank exams. This paper had no effect on our grade but instead prepared us for the essay that actually did count for 50% of our grade. Two exams, two essays, two grades, 50% each, zero pressure at all, right?

As I expected, the seventy-five minutes crunched on my style a bit. My writing takes time to develop. The first words come out very slowly and infrequently until I can reach a momentum to propel me into a comfortable mode of transfering my thoughts onto paper/computer. When the countdown for our essay began, I kept my composure, steadily read through the case, jotted some notes for prewriting, outlined my paper, and wrote the first word... about fifteen minutes later. The first students were walking down the aisles and handing in their blue books as I was just feeling the gears accelerating in my brain. The deadline came closer and closer, and my paragraphs shrunk further and further into two-line snippets. I turned in my report unsure of how someone with a PhD and JD would care for my work. After reveiwing the model answer, I left feeling slightly more assured of myself, though I did forget to address the fact of whether or not the place burglarized in the case qualified as a "building" under statute (you have to be incredibly precise).

Tonight Dr. Fondacaro returned our papers and said to read the criticisms that would help us on the real exam. He also said the grades were on a grade-point scale, with 2.0 being a solid C and 4.0 being a solid A. I came home tonight with a little kick in my step, my shoulders a bit higher, my nose trying to stay relatively even with the ground as to avoid completely inflating my own ego. I went to my room, and read the criticism so that I definitely knew what he thought:

"Talk about the (mens rea) in the discussion of the issue. You could also use a few more facts, but overall this is an incredible job. You have a real knack for legal analysis, Anthony. Very impressive. 4.0"

So why am I boasting about all this? Why do I openly commend myself doing well on a test when getting an A is a regular occurence at all schools? Sometimes I hit myself too hard over the head. Whether I fail to dedicate enough time to my studies, catch myself sitting on the bus while a girl with a heavy bag is standing in the aisle, or flash only a shallow smile when a girl at Chi-O asks for more bread, I bring myself to the corner and chastize my laziness... my inconsideration... my aloofness. I, like many of my friends, are at a crossroads in life where I'm trying to decide what direction my road will follow. The only certainty I seek is this: I must be a better person. I cannot stay stagnant and certainly should not digress. I must find ways to improve myself and, in turn, my world. Of course, I have no clue as to how I will do that, but bombarding myself with criticism and counting my flaws will not make me a better person unless I do so in a positive light. There are appropriate times to criticize yourself, just as there are appropriate times to pat yourself on the back. I must remember that not all of self-improvement comes on finding flaws; sometimes you must acknowledge your strengths. Tonight I wanted to reward myself and (super)conciously remind myself that I'm not all bad.

I'm glad I took time to write tonight. My blooger has been depleted with trivial two-line tidbits as of late without any effort or thought under the surface. I was desparate to find some sort of substance in my thoughts that I gave myself a note to write about a thought brewing in my head last night. Of course, Father Time made me sleepy and robbed me of my will to write. Inspiration revolves around every level of writing. A writer must be inspired to fully release his thoughts and emotions onto the page, and a reader must be inspired with some sort of emotional response in order for the words to be truly heard. I'm no longer inspired to write about Columbus Day; Italtian-American pride day has come and faded into the calendar. As for my sister, I'm immensley proud--- almost in awe of her. With the track she's following, I'm sure she will once again do something that amazes. With the right timing, maybe I can use that inspiration to write once more.