J. J is for Joyce, my middle name. J is also - surprise, surprise - for jury duty. J is for joke - kinda - as in, "Please take what you hear seriously. Try not to draw any conclusions until you've heard all the evidence. Don't talk about the case to anyone, don't take it home and try it out on anybody." J is for the judge for keeping it light, keeping it moving and keeping me entertained. J is for java: sitting in a courtroom all day has increased my caffeine dependency 10-fold. Subsequently, this J is for the jittering that my legs then have to do as a result of consuming too much liquid and being unable to use the bathroom when I gotta go gotta go gotta go right now. J is also for juicy, which apparently must be the new shout-out to pretty-faced big girls like myself. I mean, I'm so "juicy" that the first homeless looking man that said it to me today nearly spat on me. Joy. J is for jogging. Always-late-me loves running for the train each morning. It's awesome. I can think of nothing better than holding my jostling casabas and a cup of coffee as I channel every neuron of my brain to please let my feet not trip up the steps this time. J is for just. I'm enjoying my Law & Order experience, even though I've yet to see the gavel (This is extremely disappointing to me.).