Parking in SF can be such a carnival game. Some spots look huge, others are hiding in plain sight. I drive a small, silver Prius with the rear camera, but sometimes, even this compact eco-car parks like an extra long extended cab pick up truck with double girth.
Around 7:45 pm there is not much traffic going across the Bay Bridge from the East Bay in the City. That's the time I like to drive in to SF. I've sworn off the public transit unless dire circumstances call for it (such as destinations downtown). But I'm beginning to notice that 8 pm is about the time when there's NO PARKING around the Panhandle. I think if it gets just a tad later or a touch earlier, there will be parking. Right now, I'm praying that the spot I parked is going to be ok until one of the spots across the street opens up.
Which leads me to my thesis of the day: traveling with a measuring tape. I think it's really necessary to have this device when attempting to park in SF. It takes all the guesswork out of eyeballing. Well, where's the fun, you ask. The fun is getting all the locals to look at you funny as you pull out this measuring tape and attempt to figure out whether your car will fit. If it's the Mission, you might as well attempt it with the car because the lag time between measuring and fetching the car could result in a missing car. But around here, it's sort of ok. Ok, because I already parked the car in a mini spot while I scout for better parking spots. In that sense, I'm similar to a bird building a nest. I'll reserve a space with my clutter while I look for a safe, better space to lay my eggs.
Going back a few days, yesterday was my graduation! I am grad-u-ma-cated. My mother made the analogy that I have acquired knowledge the way a warrior sharpens his broadsword made of the finest steel that man can forge. Through the years, it gets hammered stronger and sharper and I grind and polish the edge. And now, without a job, I am like that warrior with a hyper-sharp weapon and NO ENEMY to slay. The only enemy is my self doubt. The fear that grips my heart prevents me from taking the next leap. But only for so long. I really need to find employment and start earning income. This knowledge, this school is useless unless I can whet the sword's blade on some challenge. The bar does not count.
Today I took a good look at the Barbri schedule. Yes, I finally downloaded the calendar and opened the file. It's not procrastination. It was prioritizing things that I need to know. And before finals were over, I didn't need to know. But now that reality is taking a brisk cold shower in the icy lakes of Norway, I cringe just a bit when I realize I'll be in class for around 5 hours a day minimum, 5 days a week, for the next 10 weeks. The only days off are holidays. I had not yet realized that when I looked at the schedule and bestowed misplaced benevolence on Barbri. Nope. My life will be consecutive head dunks into icy, briny water. A sea of coals to traverse on foot and me without any shoes.
The books for Barbri have rather ironic titles/descriptions. Some are known as the "long" outline and others are the "condensed" outline. But the books are approximately the same thickness. I shake my head in a weary manner as I unpack the contents of that 40 lbs gift from Barbri, delivered by the brown angel UPS. I need to shove the substantive information into my brain. On Monday, we take a diagnostic test. It's suppose to assess what we know, and at the end of the course, we can pat ourselves on the back and say, "how far we have come. The ultra-type-A personality is tempting me to start doing a little studying. Just a read-through. No memorizing yet, just casual, light reading. I will just lightly read Civil Procedure.
As far as baking goes, I've made some deliciously light shortbread cookies. Instead of putting jam on top while the dough is unbaked, I smear some on afterward. I bought a jar of Trader Joe's Apricot Preserves which I thought would be bully but after sampling a teaspoonful, it tastes a bit bland. I'm going to have to go back to using the homemade stuff. This also means that when apricot season comes around, I will have to can my own jam. How Little House on the Prairie of me. So fan of Team Shortbread, this one's for you. Still need a name. It's bigger than a thumbprint. Smaller than a deck of cards. I will call it "Metes and Bounds" because when I was cutting up the cookies, I drew property lines with a pizza cutter/roller, and then I pricked the rising shortbread with a fork to make perforations. It looks like the dotted lines of real property. Snark.
Now, I'm going to hunt a better parking space for my little car. Here, parking, parking, parking...
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