Guess who got the best number ever? Now if only I could manage to score a goal within my brief hockey existence, my life would be complete. Well, not quite, but it would be vastly improved. We are playing other bay area women’s tournament teams this weekend in the tumbleweed and outlet store town of Vacaville, about an hour and a half from the bay, and thirty minutes from the little college town where I spent all my undergrad years. I hear Davis has turned into quite the metropolis these days, but if I ever go back it will only be to buy a frame for that diploma that’s still sitting in some filing cabinet I never open. I have other imaginings for why I might go back there, but with so little willpower after leaving CMU, I am afraid they will remain vivid fantasies for now. (Speaking academically, I sort of withheld the fact that I scored disturbingly well on the practice LSAT administered by Kaplan, with a close to perfect score on reading comprehension. Two more points and I’d have a good shot at U of Chicago and such schools. Does this make me feel better? Not really. In fact, it’s only served to confuse me further. I have, oddly, tucked the results away in some big pile of paper, running from it the way my former landlady’s cat ran from its puke on the living room carpet. It’s hard to explain.) I bet you thought this entry would be about hockey, but it’s not. I’m as surprised as you.