One down, four to go

Nance stares pensively at the computer screen as she counts the cases in her mind. Jones v. Hart, BG Checo v. BC Hydro, Kapchuk v. whoever-it-was; an intermittent stream of names - cases and courts, plaintiffs and magistrates, terms of art and terms of endearment - runs between her temples, seemingly draining out of the rational lobe of her brain and settling into a low, dull ache. Her knees are stiff; her back is stiff; her brain is stiff. She catches faint whiffs of herself from time to time; personal hygiene has never seemed less important. Romance? Not likely. Her love life is limited to the occasional strain of Michael Buble mellowly emanating from the kitchen. The sound of a growling stomach is her one chance to escape the living room and take a half-hour away from the computer to make a meal. She blesses her mother for worrying that she's not eating well: trips to the grocery store and delicious hours spent preparing well-balanced meals can be written off as the acts of a dutiful daughter, rather than the desperate graspings of an unmotivated student.