Okay. Some positivity just scampered up and blew a raspberry at some of the stuff I wrote below.
I won the moot, despite having to argue an unwinnable point of law. I’m now in the finals of the competition.
This is exceptionally sweet, firstly because I did actually spend the past couple of days killing myself for this moot. I might try this advance preparation thang again in future. It was hell while it lasted, but once the moot itself began, and the judge started asking me how I had the audacity to argue against all existing authority, the fun began. Confrontations and battles of wits are my fetish. They give me mojo.
It also makes my entire effort in this competition worthwhile. I don’t actually like mooting, but I had to take part in the competition again this year, because I lost in the quarter-finals last year to people I didn’t respect intellectually, judged by a judge I didn’t respect intellectually either. She didn’t ask me any questions during my speech, and chucked me out of the competition without ever giving me the chance to show that I could stand up to questioning, which is a crucial requirement of successful mooting.
Well. You were wrong, bitch. Don’t come watch me in the finals, because you’re not invited.
Other (and less nastily expressed) sources of positivity are people who did give a damn. Oliver abandoned his own work to help me last night, replying to my guilty “Oh, please don’t bother with this if you’re busy” protestations with “Fuck my company law essay, this is much more important.” Esther took on the job of moot clerk, which involves two hours of incredible tedium, requires brute strength in hefting musty law reports around, and can only be a labour of love for anyone who subjects themself to it. Nick text messaged support and good wishes.
I might well feel depressed again some time soon, but for now I’m gonna go back to my room, read e.e. cummings and listen to Built To Spill. Yeah.