Three Years in Hell

If this blog is going to become some horrible chronicle of my days in law school, that begins today. I thought that warranted at least a few words to reminisce on someday. Seven hours from now I have my first civil procedure class at NYU. 

I've spent the past six hours pouring over four cases, Pennoyer v. Neff, Hess v. Pawloski, International Shoe v. Washington, and World Wide Volkswagen v. Woodson, that deal with personal jurisdiction. I should feel moderately prepared for my first class, introductory in nature, with a congenial professor, but I'm anxious as hell. The feeling in my stomach is not unlike when I signed the forms to come to this school some fifteen months ago: the sensation my dive off a giant cliff is really a big bellyflop in the making.
Just cracking open these monstrous books has been intellectually engaging. Though I cringe every time I mark up a paragraph in my $150 torts volume, I can tell already I'm learning something. Is it enough? Will it ever be enough? 

I thought getting into NYU was a big deal, but I fear avoiding perpetual embarrassment here will be a bigger matter. Obviously, idiots make it through law school, but I have higher expectations than dragging myself across the finish line. I'd like to feel good wasting money on a lacquered wood frame for my juris doctor when the time comes. 

That's enough for my introductory soliloquy as I march into the proud tradition of 1L.