I walked out of Myron Taylor Hall, Cornell’s Law School, last Saturday and threw my #2 pencil as far away as I possibly could. I’ll maintain, of course, that the yelp of pain I heard was created wholly within my imagination. Additionally, nothing can be proved.

A few minutes after the LSAT, and I was thinking like a lawyer already. I grinned and then grew horns. The smell of sulphur was evident, but, since I couldn’t find a Noam Chomsky book to vanquish the demons, I let it go.

I then made a beeline from the LSAT to the bar. And proceeded to get plowed. I’m sure the bartender raised an eyebrow when I asked for tequila. This is probably because I asked for it in a bucket. And because I asked for a straw. A big straw.

I was, however, not the only one. All around me, pre-law students, free at last from LSAT hell, went, in legal terms, on a bender. Like new associates approaching promotions at a firm, our neurons, having been overworked, were now slaughtered. It was great to not think.

But we couldn’t not think. Wired still, we all sipped on drinks and eyed each other warily. The pink elephant was still floating around in the room, and everyone was still waiting for the one brave soul who would pull his tail. We all wished, of course, to speak about the test. We were afraid to be “That Guy” — that guy who brought up the LSAT when everybody wanted nothing more than to drive it as far away from our minds as possible.

So it turned out to be like Munchen in the years of the Gestapo. We were forced to speak, of course, in generalities.

But then one brave soul, emboldened, no doubt, by the disinhibiting power of whiskey, chose to step forth and address the subject directly. And the floodgates opened and the outpouring of relief was palpable. I feel that in no way am I overselling anything when I say that the emotion in there was equal — if not altogether superior — to what Columbus must have felt when he discovered America. Seriously.

And then we realized how truly free we were. We could be students again! We no longer had to look for any free 35-minute periods! We no longer had to carry those stupid books around! Our backs would heal! Our sores would disappear! And God would smile again!

And then, much to my pleasure, I discovered I was now leaving LSAT mode. Why do I think so? I need to explain something first.

In the LSAT, logical reasoning questions are fairly straightforward. Here’s as simple an example as I can give:

“Socrates is a man. Socrates, therefore, will die.” What’s the assumption required so that the conclusion logically follows?

Looking for the missing assumption, you look for a link. If you say, “All men will die,” the conclusion will logically follow. That’s how you have to think in LSAT mode.

I realized, then, that I was no longer in LSAT mode, when, as usually happens at college bars, people started looking for someone with whom to mate. Chancing upon pretty girls, I made the following connection: Boy, that girl is pretty. Therefore, we will mate. Of course, there’s something — an important assumption — missing there. My failure to account for the missing assumption, and the very real probability that I was probably missing more than one of them, is probably why I ended up going back home alone.

But I didn’t care. I was out of LSAT mode and, thus, ecstatic.

Or so I thought.

Lately, I’ve kind of felt a hole in my life. It’s like something is missing. Like Prometheus, it was as if a golden eagle is constantly lighting on me and tearing a chunk off me every day.

Then I realized it. I miss the LSAT. Rather, I miss the studying. It was a shining period in my life, and now it’s gone. Senior year, I feel, won’t be half as good. Last summer was a beautiful summer, full of bright sunshine and exuberant warmth. Luckily, I was able to dodge both of these things in the muted, air-conditioned confines of the library. Though every once in a while I was forced to go outside, I feel that I did my best to avoid my last summer to the utmost.

Honestly, though. Without the LSAT, I feel like I will never, ever be that happy again. My studying for it is over, and I’ll never have that kind of joy again. Never. Not if the Braves win next year’s series, not if I win the lottery, not if I become a citizen. Hell, probably not even during my honeymoon.

I can see it now. In a few years, I’ll come home, like I always will, drunk and sullen.

Beautiful wife: Where were you?

Me: Nowhere.

BW: You were doing Logic Games again, weren’t you?

Me: No.

BW: [Crying] You reek of the Kaplan center!

Me: [Furious] Well, what do you expect me to do? I have needs, woman! What am I supposed to do if you won’t ask me what must be true if the green bike goes in Locker 4? Huh? What? [Storms off].

I don’t want to cheat on my wife, but I feel like I’m going to have to. I mean, those long passages aren’t going to comprehend themselves.

So now I’m walking around, trying to find some purpose in my life again. I wander, trying to find myself. If you see me and decide to take pity, give me a logic game or two. Then I’ll be on my way.

But I guess I should get to studying. Shortly, I’ll be taking the MCAT.

Carlos Maycotte is The Sun’s Associate Editor. He can be contacted at cam98@cornell.edu. Tequila Sunrise appears Thursdays.