My hands are shaking considerably as I type this. Not from fear, just from fatigue. The 50 yard dash that was the last 30 seconds of this afternoon's performance test left my head spinning, my cheeks flushed, and my stomach muscles feeling the lactic burn usually reserved for marathon training. The first day of marathon training.

Now, I'm back where I belong - at PMB, the bar in the lobby of the Sheraton Grand Hotel. I should note here, for later discussion, that the Sheraton has been less than grand in the service department thus far. But I'll be speaking with them prior to the final settling of accounts, I assure you. As one would expect during on a weeknight when the Legislature is in session - it is in session, right - and a thousand ever events are going-on, the lobby here is packed with people who look much more civilized than I do at this point, in my jeans, CMC shirt (Go Stags!) and black fleece. I can't help but look longingly at the smartly dressed young women who look like their doing what I'd rather be doing: that is, not taking the bar, being gainfully employed, rocking the cute spring/transitional fashions, and networking. Soon . . . . soon . . .

Ah - but the part you've been waiting for: so how the hell was today?

Verdict: Good.

My first thought upon reading the task memo for this afternoon's performance test was "dear god, let this be the PR component of the exam." The issue was potential disqualification due to an attorney's alleged violation of the applicable ex parte communication prohibition. I probably should've thrown in a paragraph about that disqualification being either imputed to the rest of the firm or not, but I don't think that will lose me a lot of points - if any. It was a clear set of facts and a clear library of only two cases. In short, it was a walk in Capitol Park compared to the unholy terrors included in BarBri's PT book.

This mornings essays would worry me more if I had any energy left to worry about them. But all-in-all, I can't say that I thought it was horrible. I won't say I think I passed because I'm Catholic and we don't say things like that unless we want to fail. But it could've been much, much worse - and it might still be worse. There's still two days left. And tomorrow is the MBE. It's the final showdown between a blogger and her nemises: 200 poorly constructed, ambiguous, idiotic multiple choice questions. Should be a ball. I'm more concerned about the exhaustive effect of the MBEs on Thursday's performance than I am about the substance of Thursday's questions.

But for now, I've adequately informed you all about the day and now shall return to my brandy manhattan, up (fuck yeah, I'm having A drink, you would too, trust me). There may or may not be a nice dip in the hot tub for me later. And then there's Idol and ice skating (oh if ONLY they were combined). But between now and then, I have to find somewhere in Sacramento to eat dinner that I a) love and b) is least likely to be selected by a significant number of fellow examinees.

Perhaps something in Modesto?