Another weekend.

Having abandoned my quest for the best brunch in the city some time ago, I went to my usual Sunday morning diner to do my usual Sunday morning debriefing. It's a big, greasy plate of heaven that will no doubt appear on my waistline at the most inopportune moment. At the gym yesterday, I discovered that I seem to be down a pound. The only way I could be one pound lighter is if the many pounds of turkey dinners and leftovers I've eaten, in addition to the ridiculously large Italian dinner I had the other night, is actually lurking in my circulatory system somewhere, just waiting to announce themselves on my hips as soon as I return to my daily diet of chicken soup and granola bars, thus creating no incentive for me to eat healthy. I watched "Bridget Jones" yesterday (in addition to "Ever After" and "Le Divorce" - an accidental day of chick flicks) and thought, gee whiz. She is so darned cute when she's chubby. Can I get a Mark Darcy for Christmas?

I'm plugging away at yet another public defender questionnaire. These questions are impossible to answer well. The questions are variations on why I want to be a public defender, or what work or personal experience I've had that's relevant to public defense. I find it very difficult to make the answer sound different from what's already on my cover letter and resume, so it ends up being a vague answer that sounds remarkably similar to the answer to the previous question. Almost everything about being a social worker is relevant to public defender work. Almost every activity in which I've participated is relevant to my leadership and organizational skills. Every legal job I've had is relevant to working with indigent clients. It feels tedious to explain why a lifetime of community service, a degree and brief stint in social work, and an internship in a public defenders office makes public defense work a good fit. The truth is, I have no patience at all for doing a job that's not active, overwhelming, and fascinating. I doubt that I'll ever get a job by admitting that I have no tolerance for doing things that don't interest me.

I found myself wondering about Mr. Maybe this weekend. Wondering if he was back in the area for Thanksgiving, wondering if he'd even call if he were in the area, wondering if we'd ever speak again. Not bitter, or sad, just curious.