I am good at compartmentalizing.  I mean, really good.  I managed to shelve worrying for three solid months, concentrating on meetings and networking and interning. 

Until yesterday evening at approximately 6:30, when I left the MARTA station to drive home after truly grueling at the county public defenders.  (I got a lecture from one of our clients on that particular afternoon about how he pays his taxes and he’s indigent and he shouldn’t have to pay this fee. . .”don’t shoot the messenger” has no impact whatsoever on these guys, and I don’t think it would have helped his confidence if I informed him that I’m actually working for free.)  At any rate, as I shook off the mental detritus of the day, slow realization took its place.  Bar results tomorrow.

The rest of the evening went like this:

Bar results, upon receipt, there will be no good reason not to have a job (aside from the craptacular market, I mean.)

Bar results, which I will then have tell a lot of people about.

Bar results, which I will have to tell a lot of people about if I pass and then tactfully tell them to hire me.

Bar results, which I will have to tell a lot of people about if I don’t pass and then graciously accept their sympathy without screaming and breaking things.

One lawyer I spoke with shrugged and said, “so what?  you don’t pass, you take it again.”

What? What what what?  But isn’t this what really tells me whether or not I should be a lawyer?  Whether this totally new direction I diverted my life into for four exhausting years was a big, fat, expensive mistake?  What will I actually do if I don’t pass?  Finally move out, change my name and join the circus?

. . .that seems like a good option. . .

It’s comforting to have a plan B.

I got home at 11:45 today.  Results were posted at noon.  I stubbornly refused to even open my computer until then, at which point a chat window from a classmate pulsed cheerfully at me: “Congratulations!”

So that was anticlimactic.  But good.

I passed the bar.