It has been ten days of winter holidays, and I am going bananas. The first few days were truly magical: I Christmas shopped and decorated the house with the girls. We baked and played carols on the stereo. It was a welcome relief after nearly two weeks of intense studying and exam writing, and I felt I had really earned the temporary freedom.

Jeff and I threw a Winter Solstice Party and invited some neighbours, my brother and his family, and several of my favourite people from school. It was a smashing time, and given the amount of vodka shots I agreed to imbibe, I would also suggest that it was a much needed decompressor. We drank and yakked until the middle of the night, and I adored every minute of it, until the next morning when a hammering in my head woke me up rather early. Still, in spite of the hang over, I had a marvellous time with my new friends.

Christmas arrived stunningly fast and we all enjoyed a day of opening gifts and visiting family and finishing the day off with a little “Love Actually.” It was perfect; all of it has been perfect, but I can’t ignore the underlying feeling of restlessness that is beginning to sneak to the surface. Admittedly, I knew I would be struggling with a bit of boredom over the holidays. It is very challenging to go from intense, ten hour school days to absolute freedom. In anticipation of this, I had made a contingency plan: over the holidays, I would work on my extremely long and nonsensical manuscript that I wrote about our trip around the world! In fact, I would even set a goal and plan to have a tidy little 1500 word essay written by January 4th, when school commences once again. Better still, I would enter it in the CBC’s “Canada Writes” contest as further incentive! I felt pretty swell about this plan, until I started to go through the 450 page manuscript in an attempt to glean something poignant that I could actually write about. So far, complete and utter failure.

Don’t get me wrong – there were many incredible experiences I could write about. The problem appears to lie in the actual writing part of the plan. Everything I put down sounds shitty. I wrote a long, first person account of our time in Africa, and it reads like sentimental drivel. I then changed my approach and tried to use an experimental format, but that turned out contrived and pretty awful. Currently, I am writing in the second person, but am very unsure about it all, and time is running out! I am on the verge of abandoning it altogether. It seemed like a fine plan, but in reality, its only a pathetic ruse to distract myself from what I am really missing: The Law, and all of its glorious glories.

Yes folks, I am addicted to law school. I am at home and free to do as I please and all I long for is thirty to fifty pages of Constitutional Law readings. I regularly fantasize about our second semester syllabuses. I dream of feeling completely stressed out and overwhelmed each day. It’s shocking and deranged.

Fortunately, I have some typical Stephanie angst to act as a temporary distraction. New Year’s Eve is coming up, and I want to do something. My first choice is to go back to Edmonton and celebrate with dear friends and then attend an annual January 1st party at one of our most favourite couples’ home. But this is not to be. My second choice is…well, I haven’t figured that out quite yet. Certainly, part of my obsession with school is that it functions as a perfect outlet for all of my spastic energy. Now that I am at home and really available, it has become glaringly obvious that we have little roots in Saskatoon, and thus, no traditions. I understand that this takes time, but the essence of time stinks majorly, particularly when I happen to be ready right now. I miss my Edmonton pals, especially at this time of year. It takes eons to develop relationships with people that allow the level of vodka drinking, gymnastics and the reciting of odes that I have become accustomed to. I might have scared some of the innocents in this town already.

But enough bellyaching, right? It’s time for some proactive behaviour, which will begin instantly with my letter-writing campaign to friends and family in Alberta:

Dear ______________,

If you don’t move to Saskatoon immediately, I will no longer do cartwheels at your parties.

With Love, Stephanie.