love will not find you tonight, part 2

Last night I went out on a second date with the guy from last week. We went to a nice bar that I had been to before. Like the last one, it was very dark and intimate, with couches, cushions, and candles around the room. The conversation started slowly, as we had covered just about everything in the 4 hours we spent together the previous week.

I was drinking slowly, too, because I'm just coming off a stomach virus, and I'm always tired on Fridays. I didn't want to drink myself into yawning on a date with a guy who gives me butterflies. But for all my efforts to drink slowly, he kept insisting that I keep up. He wanted me to have more and more drinks. We discussed our families, spirituality, the Seattle grunge scene, his livelihood, all in the midst of some really, really hot making out.

Before I went on the date, I was insistent that I wasn't going to make out with him at the bar again. No no, I was going to play hard to get this time. I wanted him to know that he'd have to work to charm me. Although I wasn't instantly attracted to him when I met him, last night I was insanely attracted to him. I really, really like him. He looked so good, and I could only ward him off for so long before I finally caved. We kissed, and kissed, and kissed, and there's a long period of time that we were kissing that I don't even remember, until the part where he suggested that we go back to his place and watch a movie.

Most of this sitcom's viewers probably realize that's not likely to happen at this stage in the episode. I, however, do actually believe that we'll watch the movie, then we'll probably make out on his couch a bit more, then I'll go home. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER.

We went back to his place and I know he likes scary movies, so I picked "Exorcism of Emily Rose" which I did really want to see. At first we were sitting on the couch. Then the light goes off. Then he wants me to lie down next to him. He has his arm wrapped around me; he wants to make sure I'm comfortable. I was happy. He definitely kept wanting to make out, but I tried to keep him in check while I was watching the movie. And like everything else, eventually he won and the movie was turned off.

Some more hot making out ensued on his bed. The making out was a little hotter than I had intended, but it was HOT. I was taken aback that this kind of quiet, smart, funny, cute, slender guy was pulling moves like he was pulling. But no doubt I was enjoying myself.

So the whole night sounds great, until the next 60 seconds: after we had stopped making out, we both nodded off for a moment. I got up to go to the bathroom and when I came back, something had changed. He was up, getting dressed; he was trying to help me find my shirt. It had suddenly become very, very apparent to me that he wanted me to leave.

There is little that is more upsetting, offensive, insulting than that.

I quickly pulled my shirt over my head, refusing to look at him. As I put on my shoes he asked, "Are you ok to go home?" I thought about my answer for a moment. No, he didn't ask me to stay. He asked me if I was sure I was ok to go home. I said tersely, again without looking at him, "I'm fine." As I slipped on my shoes he asked me again. "You sure you'll be ok? You know, this late at night." Again, I thought, What am I supposed to say? "Actually, is it ok if I stay here and spend the night with you?" I'm not going to ask that! So as I slipped on my shoes and turned and opened the door without so much as looking at him again, I said, "I'm fine" and I jerked the door shut behind me.

I walked down the hall to the elevator and every nanosecond I so very much wanted him to call after me, to follow me down the hall, to grab my arm. But he didn't. I got to the elevator and got in. I heard someone walking down the hall at a moderate pace. The doors closed before I could have my fears confirmed that it wasn't him at all.

I left his building. I called my best friend. I cried. I didn't have enough money to take a cab all the way back to my place, so I took a cab back to her place and was crying on her couch 20 minutes later, at 4:30 am. I cried because I was disappointed. I cried because I was afraid that maybe I overreacted and that maybe he wanted me to stay and was trying to get me to stay and that I'll never see this really, really great guy who gives me butterflies in my stomach again because I walked out the door.

He never called to see that I got home ok, even after I told him how I DID NOT get home ok after our last date.

Now it's 5 pm. He still hasn't called. I called a few friends for advice - no one picked up. Finally I called the friend who tells me exactly what I know I need to hear, but I can't bring myself to believe.

You should have walked out, she said. He should have asked you to stay. It's shitty that he was kicking you out. He could have come after you, at least to call a cab or go downstairs and make sure you get in a cab ok. 'But what if he wasn't trying to kick me out? What if he mistakenly thought I wanted to leave? What if he was trying to ask me to stay?' No no no, she insisted. If he wanted you to stay, he would have asked you to stay. He would have run after you. 'What if he didn't know I was upset? What if he didn't realize what was going on?' No no no, she admonished. He knew. He knew exactly what was going on. He could have at least called to see if you got home ok. He didn't. DO NOT CALL HIM. If you call him, you'll see him again, and the same things will happen, and just like with Tenacious D, you'll let him get away with this and you'll be upset anyway. If he calls you, fine. But if he doesn't, then at least you know now rather than later that he isn't for you.

Every girl I've spoken with agrees that it was the right thing for me to walk out. I mean really, what other choice did I have? I wonder what the men out there think. What happened?

The entire time we were together on both dates, I couldn't help but feel the nagging from that little (ok, really loud) voice of insecurity in my mind. I couldn't help but think, "Why me? Why is he with me? Why is he so into me? Why would an attractive, smart, funny single guy be so focused and psyched about ME?" To be able to continue forward despite that anxiety and that insecurity takes effort - and I did it anyway. I liked him. I liked talking to him. I liked kissing him. And it's so harsh to get the realization that in the end, oh yeah, he really isn't into me. That whole time that you finally managed to get past your insecurity was actually a mistake. I feel like I'm back to being a 100% insecure, nervous, risk-averse 20-something with no ability to formulate or even simulate healthy relationships with members of the opposite sex.

I can't help but hate myself for doing what will ultimately end this otherwise really good dating experience - even if it actually was because something in the dating experience went amiss.

I wish he would call.

what it's like to be postal.

On Tuesday, I received two of those "sorry we missed you" notices from the post office. One was dated 3/22. The other was dated Monday. The Monday notice also indicated that it was the LAST NOTICE and the letter would be returned to the sender on 4/6 (today). I was annoyed that I received both notices on Tuesday, since one was three weeks old. Nevertheless, the next morning, at the crack of dawn when I usually leave for work, I braved the driving wind and rain and duct taped (quite firmly) both notices to the door with instructions on where to leave it. Those two notices sat there, firmly taped to the door, for two days.

Today I got home from work early (fluke), and seeing that the notices were still on the door, walked down to the end of my block to the post office. I gave them the notices and they asked for ID. I provided ID. They told me that since my ID did not reflect my new mailing address, they would not give me my mail.

Huh?

I've picked up mail before with this ID, I explained. Usually it's sufficient since it's photo identification, it has my name on it, and it's clearly my face. The postal worker was not swayed. I have no way of picking this up, then, I said to him. He then started saying something about state and federal law. I was not swayed, either. I showed him the duct tape and said, "These have been taped to my door for two days. Why can't I have anyone redeliver it, if I can't pick it up?" Taped to the door? he asked me. He was puzzled. Annoyed, I responded, well how else am I supposed to let the mailman know I want this redelivered? You have to call and tell them, says the postal worker.

Where in the instructions does it say I have to call anyone and tell them I want my mail delivered? Nowhere. I've never once encountered such a rule. He took one of the notices and said he would tell them to redeliver it tomorrow, with the instructions for where to leave it. I thanked him and left, thoroughly annoyed that I still didn't get the letter that my baby sister sent me three weeks ago.

Then I returned home with high hopes of taking the extra time to clean my room, pay my bills, organize, etc etc, and instead immediately fell asleep across my unmade bed. As is my usual practice, I disrobed immediately upon entering my room. This meant that when I was awakened by the doorbell 45 minutes later, I had to dig for clothing to put on, find some flipflops, run to the door.... just in time to see the mailman walk down the street and around the corner. I yelled after him, to no avail.

I just want my letter.

on being an attorney: ya know, stuff.

I've been a bad blogger. Honestly, I don't have the time to sit down and write as things strike me. My day pretty much always looks the same: gym, commute, work, commute, dinner, bed. Repeat. There are moments in my day that feel good. There are moments in my day that don't feel so good. I'm loathe to share too much on the blawg because I'm afraid of somehow revealing too much - compromising my anonymity or my professionalism or something. I'm still trying to strike the balance.

It's remarkable how far I've come in 6 months. I feel exponentially more confident about what I'm doing in a day, but every day I realize how far I still have to go. I think that's a great place to be - just the right blend of knowledgeable and ready to learn. I've developed very good relationships with my colleagues - in my office and in and around the courthouse. I think people respond well to me, usually. Sometimes it surprises me how friendly and responsive other people are to me. I think I'm really lucky to work in such a collegial environment.

Now don't get me wrong. I feel pretty adversarial usually. But it's nice to get a kick in the teeth from someone who is smiling and treats you respectfully. A smiley, respectful kick in the teeth. Yes. That's how I like it.

There are more stories to come, I promise. But for now, the Red Sox are on.

Damon is appointed the new Yankee scapegoat.

today was a good day

I had a date last night.  We met for drinks.  We were there for more than 4 hours.  Things went well.  Today I'm very sleepy and staring off dreamily into space.  This is what it feels like to meet someone you genuinely like.  Someone who gets you drinks, who laughs at the guy who moved in in his absence, and offers to go back to the bar just to watch the hilarity ensue again.  Someone who kisses you, and wants to kiss you, and is excited to kiss you, and doesn't want to stop kissing you.  Dreamy sigh.

 

Gmail is offering (the ads at the top) to send me one free french horn.  That's not an offer you see every day.  To that, I raise an eyebrow.

Last week, the New York Times; this week, the Washington Post.
Singles Don't Have Time to Date
Erica Jong finds love and intimacy in monogamy
Marriage is for White People

I'm never buying a Sunday paper again.

love will not find you tonight

The blogging has been light because life has been busy. Not busy in a "I have a lot to tell you about" sort of way - more of a busy in a "I have nothing to show for how I've spent the past 6 months" sort of way.

I suppose that's not exactly true. I might have a story or two. Nudged by a friend, I embarked upon what my coworker affectionately refers to as "power dating." I tried online dating, speed dating, and the usual - meeting men at bars, through friends, etc. I started a different blog to chronicle all the escapades and then after a few posts just gave up. Maybe I'll try cross-posting them here later on.

I don't think I have much to show for this experiment. Right when I started online dating, I started seeing a guy I met at a bar. My former booty call wouldn't stop calling. And then a friend of a friend coerced me into taking him home. What do they all have in common? All of them are only interested in sleeping with me. The guy I met at the bar, Tenacious D, might have had more interest at some point. If nothing else, we'll at least grab a few drinks before he makes his way home with me.

One night Tenacious D and I had plans to see each other and I was excited about finally having a nice, sit-down dinner date. We had met up for drinks a few times, he had come over a few times, but we never had an actual romantic date. That night, I did not hear from him until 6 pm. I was incensed. I nevertheless met up with him after I had consumed a hefty amount of vodka with some coworkers. I'll skip the details of the evening and fast forward to the part where we left the second bar to go home and I drunkenly decide that I'm going to ditch him. I start walking (or drunkenly wobbling) away and he ran up behind me. "Whoa. Where are you going?" He ran up behind me. But it was too late. I started crying. Full on sobbing vodka tears, in the middle of the street on a busy Friday night, still in my suit.

I didn't know at the time why I was crying, but I thought about it, and a day or two later I figured out that I was just so sorely disappointed. I wanted to have a nice romantic evening with him, and he was content to just sit at the bar and drink, and talk to his buddies on the phone, and watch sports on TV. I'm not opposed to these things, but I had been so excited for a night that never materialized. When he asked me why I was crying, I said it was work. He was actually very concerned at my outburst. He was very sweet and responded better than I would have expected. When I think back on it now, I wonder if that's what it takes to galvanize this man to be who I want him to be.

The following week I finally told him why I had actually been crying. He was interested in what I had to say, but I think I gave him too many outs. I told him that it wasn't fair of me to expect something I had never articulated with him - he couldn't be responsible because he didn't know. He agreed, of course, with my excuses for him.

A few days later I called and left him a message. I was going to be in his neighborhood for work later in the evening. Did he want to meet up for dinner? He agreed to meet me, and gave me the name and address of a bar at which to meet him when I got out of work.

I should have known better.

I show up, and it's a hopping happy hour, with young professionals hanging off bar stools, music blaring, people pushing their way through the crowds to the bar. He isn't even there - he moved to a different bar. He came back to meet me and said, "Well since we're here we might as well go in," at which point I turned and glared at him in disbelief. "No. Absolutely not," I said. I was not in the mood for a crazy drunken happy hour. I wanted dinner. Just like I said in my message. Dinner does not mean gnawing on chicken wings at the bar. So where did he take me next? To a sports bar. At that point I think he realized that I was just pissed, so he said "Why don't we try this Cuban restaurant around the corner?"

We get to the Cuban restaurant and he won't even go in - it's too ritzy for him. He referred to it as "Chez Whitey." [Perhaps this is where I should mention that I am white, he is not.] My feet are tired from staggering around in impractical heels, plus I'm wheeling around my very large gym bag, and I'm hungry, and I have to go to the bathroom, and I'm annoyed. He suggests that we go to a Mexican restaurant a few blocks away. (He did not mention the name of this restaurant.) As we walk there, we pass an Applebee's. He said, "Do you want to go there?" to which I responded with a resounding NO. He laughed and asked why I was so anti-Applebee's, and I gave him the short version: I'd had a bad date and any guy who subsequently suggests Applebee's is automatically gone.

We arrived at the restaurant that Tenacious D suggested and when I walked in, I immediately said, with an air of finality, "This is like a Mexican Applebee's." Tenacious D laughed, hard. Then, realizing the import of these words, suggested we go somewhere else. "I know this little Caribbean restaurant not too far..."
"No," I said. "We are staying here. I am hungry. My feet hurt. I have to go to the bathroom." Then he started to get angry. "You clearly do not want to be here. Let's go somewhere else." I refused. He insisted. I refused. "Well," he said quietly, "given what you just said about Applebee's, and then you called this a Mexican Applebee's..." That right, I thought. You draw your own conclusions. I sat down, drank a margarita that came in a glass the size of a bucket, surrounded by cheezy 'Mexican' or 'Western' themed furniture, and thought that the only thing that was missing from this absurd scene was a singing cactus on the table.

Now, I don't want my readers to think I don't frequent restaurants such as this. There's one in my hometown that I go to every time I go home, and I love it. Margaritas, tortilla chips, things covered in mountains of melted cheese... mmmm. But this was my second attempt at going on a DATE with this guy. Restaurants such as this one don't exactly inspire romance. It seems that in the end, he just wants to be my drinking buddy. Until the end of the night, of course, when he decides that he just might be inclined to show half an ounce of affection, and tries to carry my bag for me, because he wants to go home with me.

Of course, it doesn't end there. The next weekend he called me at 2 am and I let him come over. I think it's safe to say that the relationship was officially dead that night. He stayed way too late the next day - I couldn't wait for him to leave. I just wasn't interested in him anymore. Then I caught him 'trying to use' my cell phone when I got out of the shower, but I had changed his number to 'Disappoint Cell' and he was looking at that name in my list of received calls. I freaked out. I don't think he figured out it was him. We used to have fun hanging out, but now I'm just exasperated, and sick of trying.

So last night, around 6 pm, I received a voicemail from him, asking me to a movie. I was excited to hear his voice. In his message, he conceded that he knew it was late in the day and he knew that I like to set my plans earlier than that, but he wanted to see me if I was around, and asked me to call him. Knowing that I was going to cave, I immediately went to the friend who I knew would tell me not to see him, at all, under any circumstances. She didn't let me down. I was going to go out with another friend who was meeting up with her friend "NonSportsGuy," who had coerced me into going home with me one night. I like him a lot. I like him more than I've liked a guy in a while. But, he came over, we made out, and he left the next morning without asking for my number, and I haven't seen him since. I knew that if I met out with them, I'd want him to like me, and I'd break down and let him come home with me again, and if he didn't want to, then I'd call Tenacious D to come home with me at the end of the night instead. I know myself well enough to know this is what would happen. Since they are all unhealthy, unproductive choices, I forced myself to stay in last night.

It was actually difficult knowing that there were two men out there that I could see, especially since I felt lonely and unattractive, and in need of some attention from the opposite sex. It took all my willpower not to change my mind. It took all my willpower not to answer the phone when Tenacious D called at 2 am again this morning.

I have another date or two coming up, but for all intents and purposes, I'm on a dating timeout. I don't feel attractive or desirable. I have not had a boyfriend in almost 7 years. SEVEN YEARS. I acknowledge that part of this is attributable to the fact that I like my independence - I like to come and go as I please, I like to plan my days and weeks without regard to anyone else - but I haven't found anyone that I'm interested in making time for on a regular basis (now that Tenacious D is crossed off the list). My dates are not successful. The guys who do take me on the types of dates that I want to go on usually end up being guys that I can barely hold a conversation with.

I'm still so afraid that love will never happen.

the off-season makes me jumpy

First Johnny Damon, then Bronson Arroyo (I love you!!!) then Willie McGinest and now Adam Vinatieri?

 

New England sports, you are so fickle.

Nemesis: New York Times

Shhhhh. You hear that? Tick, tock.

Today I had a wonderful Sunday planned. I was going to meet a friend for brunch and some concentrated window shopping. While waiting for my friend, I picked up a newspaper. I LOVE Sunday papers and coffee. I read 7 newspapers online every morning. This morning, I decided I'd pick up a NY Times, since it's the paper I have the least tolerance for online and it has the most reading material. (That shit is NOT cheap!)

I did have a nice brunch, and pleasant window shopping. Then we retreated to a coffeeshop to read the paper. And behold, today was Conception Sunday! at the New York Times. There were extensive articles about women partners in law firms, about choosing to be a single mom through artificial insemination, and several other articles along those lines.

I've been doing a fair amount of dating recently, quite unsuccesfully. Only two guys I considered seeing again: one who said he wanted to "keep in touch" after the first date but has since not corresponded; and one who I finally decided yesterday not to see again. I decided not to see him again, after dating him for a little over a month, because he seems to be content to be my drinking buddy and then have sex with me. It doesn't bother me that he wants that, but I don't. He can look for it elsewhere. Dating is really tiring. It takes a lot of energy to invest time and interest in someone else. It means giving up quality time with my closest friends, or quality alone time, to put on layers of makeup and fret over clothing and make small talk. I'm going to stop dating for a few weeks to get my life back in order and to regain some sanity and perspective. I assure you it won't be hard to give up dating. It's not something I do very often anyway.

Then the New York Times comes up with Conception Sunday! and now I'm sitting here wondering if this will be me. Will I be considering suitable sperm donors? Will I tiredly concede that the life I wanted to lead just isn't going to happen, and that I'm going to have to go on anyway? How do I know if I'm going down the wrong path? My planner has three weddings and a baby arrival scheduled for this year. None of them belong to me; I just bring a token gift and the sneaking suspicion that I'm That Single Girl everyone pretends to envy but secretly pities, since all I have to show for my days are a pile of empty wine and beer bottles and loads of excitement about the 4th, 5th, and 6th Amendments. My life is generally fulfilling to me, except for moments like this one, when I am suddenly seized by the fear that OH MY GOD THIS IS ALL WRONG.

Thanks, New York Times, for ruining This Single Girl's Sunday.

ATTN: DEFENSE BAR

Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court rules that defense attorneys must turn over cross-examination material of prosecution witnesses before trial.

 

gasp.

 

I want to hear what the criminal defense community has to say about this. 

 

Here is the link to the decision.

reminder

Today I changed the name of a suitor from "Mike Cell" and "Mike Home" to "Disappoints Cell" and "Disappoints Home" just to remind me not to get excited when he calls, because he has consistently disappointed me.

on being an attorney: the inexplicable

I found out today that one of my clients killed himself.

For all the crying I've done at work, I didn't cry today. It helped having a social worker break the news to me. I didn't cry, but it took me a few seconds to realize what she said. I've been thinking about it all day. I didn't have a lot of contact with this client, but I had engaged with several other advocates on his behalf and it was looking like we were going to get an ideal disposition.

It made me realize that sometimes I have very little contact with my clients, and frequently I have no idea what is going on with them between court dates, especially if they're not incarcerated. Even though I'm working hard on their case, and I might be making a lot of progress in a legal sense, I could actually go through a few court dates without knowing that something had happened to them.

This client would have been memorable to me regardless of the news I received today. I clearly remember the first appearance, and how plaintive and sympathetic he was, what a kind and gentle manner he had about him, and I was ENRAGED by how unreasonable the DAs were being - which is why the case wasn't resolved quickly even though it should have been.

Maybe I should have let him know how much progress we had made on the case. Maybe it would have been news that was good enough to get him through.

I've been here four months, and I've already had an interlocutory appeal, a potentially incompetent client, several clients who have made the front page of the newspaper, and now this. It feels to me like I could easily get enough experience in a year to fill a textbook.

Dear DA:

saying "I feel bad about this" doesn't change the fact that you did, actually, ask for my client to be put in jail and that my client will, actually, rot there until the next court date.

Thanks so much! Bye now.

- Woman

on being an attorney: a moment of silence

It's 4:55 p.m.  The office is quiet.  I can see the top of my desk for the first time in two weeks.  Client files are tucked neatly away in alphabetical order in the filing cabinet.  Pens and paper are restocked.  Trash is gone.  Items belonging to others have been returned.  My "to-do" list has been composed.  All phone calls, faxes, and letters have been returned / made / sent.  My three-legged desk clock has reclaimed its rightful regal place on my desk. 

 

Ahhhhh.

 

A while back I took on a case that went bad.  It went bad right from the start.  I filed a writ of habeas corpus almost immediately.  In the meantime, the DA made a terrible offer.  I haughtily rejected it, because I was sure to win the habeas - the bail was absolutely illegal.  I lost the habeas.  At this point, a client who certainly should not have been in jail was in jail, and had been for some time, and was angry with me.  The family called me daily.  I was wracked with guilt.  I cried for days.  I spent an entire weekend moping, unable to get off the couch.  I couldn't shake the case.  Finally today we got a resolution, an ideal resolution given the circumstances.  The family was happy, the client was happy.  I was relieved.

 

I was also working on a felony trial with another attorney.  It's a bench trial and it's going oddly piecemeal - one witness here, one witness there.  I had picked up a whole slew of cases all at once, and then I needed to find other people to cover them for me while I was at this trial.  

 

A few cases that should have been resolved haven't been, and so I'm scrambling to file motions.

 

One of my clients is almost certainly incompetent to stand trial.  

 

There just haven't been enough hours in the day recently, and I've been scrambling from moment to moment, digging things out of piles on my desk, fruitlessly rearranging piles, forgetting to return calls as soon as I promise to do so.  I even fell behind on my compulsive list-making. 

 

Currently I am being stood up by a complaining witness.  I even had someone else stay late to stay with me for the meeting.  Ah well.  I spent a wonderful afternoon making a list, clearing my desk, clearing the floor around my desk, and most importantly, clearing my head. 

keepin' the little guy down.

Debt to Society is Least of Costs for Ex-Convicts

 

This BURNS ME UP.  It is INCONCEIVABLE to me that courts actually charge people for the pleasure of being arrested, dragged into court, and resolving the case.  I've met Mr. Rideau and his story is just heart-wrenching.  My clients, too, are often fined 'surcharges' and 'fees' for the pleasure of their involuntary involvement in the criminal system, and it's almost always a problem, particularly the court-ordered programs, which run in the thousands of dollars.  "Despise" isn't a strong enough word to describe how I feel about this setup.

Two highlights of my day

Scene 1: Public Transportation
Three young men board. One sits in the empty seat next to me (Red) and two (Mutt and Jeff) sit in the seats across. The conversation goes like this.
Mutt: spanish spanish spanish spanish snitch.
Jeff: spanish spanish spanish snitch?
Mutt: Nawwww man. A subpoena ain't snitchin.' That's different, man. That's a subpoena.
Jeff: How come?
Red: He told the cops he was inside when it went down, but he told D's sister that he was there and saw it happened.
Jeff: Awww, I see.
Mutt: Man, that's why you can't tell women anything.
Red: Oooooh, I sure do love the ladies.
Mutt: Man, I ain't never told the truth to women. I was never once honest with my last girlfriend.
Jeff: You were cheatin' on her all the time.
Mutt: Man, you really can't tell girls anything.
Mutt sees me smirking at him. He nods his head in my direction and blows a kiss to me.
Red, to me: Man, this guy right here. Something else.
They get up to leave.
Mutt: I got back spasms or somethin.' I gotta go home and take some Excedrin.

Scene 2:
Ridiculously difficult day at work, everything was a struggle. With the judge, the DAs, my clients, everything. Back to the office for lunch before running back over to continue battling. Found a box of Girl Scout Thin Mints waiting for me on my desk.
Cue Heaven music and lighting.

Welfare Agencies seek foster children's assets. 

V-Day commentary

Seems that people are commenting on their Valentine's Day around the blogosphere. I worked late. The work had to be done and I volunteered because I had no other plans and I like making myself look like a martyr. When I told people that I was working, everyone said, "Awwww, that's sad," which would have accomplished the martyrdom I was seeking, but it actually just bugged me. I wasn't bothered by the fact that I was working, I wasn't bothered by the fact that I was single; it just didn't matter to me.

Turns out, I had received phone calls from two dates that night. I've seen one guy a few times; the other one I was making plans to go on a date with. I didn't want to speak with either of them, really... there's something awkward about talking to someone you're dating casually on a holiday that celebrates commitment and love. I was working, so I made my future plans with each of them and left it at that. My mom also called. She's great.

So yeah, I'm doing some dating. Nothing particularly fascinating about it - it's not heart-stoppingly dreamy or cringe-worthy horrid. Which is too bad.

watch what you email!

Testy emails between an attorney and a new graduate. 

 

I'm not even sure where to begin with Abdala.  I can't believe this self-professed 'trust fund baby' accustomed to 'the finer things in life' will also be representing indigent defendants. 

update!

Blogging is difficult now that I have a job and can't blog when so inspired. And, I've been crazy busy.

I've been having a great time in my personal life. I've spent the past two weekends living in the city's nightlife, out until the wee hours of the morning. I had the opportunity to spend a lot of time with people I haven't seen in a while, but love and adore with all my heart. I am also broke now. I take pictures with my digital camera all the time, as I now fancy myself to be an amateur photographer.

Work has been interesting. I've stopped trying to plan my days in advance. I've accepted the reality of PD work - the days take on a life of their own. There is no such thing as planning or scheduling. Which means that I either have to be mentally prepared for everything in the morning, or deal with not being mentally prepared. Still working on that one.

I'm currently working on a felony trial with another attorney. I spent two days running on adrenaline because the DAs were making impractical offers on cases that should be easily resolved. Anger is my fuel.

'gotta be handy with the steel, if you know what I mean'

What do you think the bar association's / ethics & character committee's policy is on dating drug dealers?

He assured me he already had an attorney. He told me he was kidding. I should have asked if he owned a gun, but it seemed inappropriate.

I saw my first pimp today. Whoot.

dating misadventures

I went on a date a while back with a guy that I met at a bar. I met him on the last night that I ever let Mr. Wrong crush my ego. I was so drunk and so crushed that I cried in the bathroom of a restaurant while my friends were sipping at their drinks. I wholeheartedly sobbed, reeling from the harsh words that had been directed towards me, and flailed about in my fear that I had deceived myself into thinking that someone would actually be interested in me.

Needless to say, I was vulnerable. Some guy at the bar started chatting with me, telling me I was beautiful, asked me out to dinner, and I might even have drunkenly made out with him in the middle of the bar. After subsequent phone conversations, we made plans for dinner the following weekend. I was excited to have a bona fide date - a date for which I needed to preen.

As for the date: Originally he was going to pick me up from my place, but then thought it would be better if I took public transportation. I took a bus quite a ways out, and he picked me up at the bus station. He honked the horn when he pulled up to the bus station. I climbed into car, and as with most of my romantic encounters, felt a wave of regret.

We arrived at the restaurant at the geriatric meal time of 5:45 p.m. The restaurant was in the suburbs of the city and I thought I had walked onto the set of an 80s hair band video. We sat down to eat and ordered wine. I love red wine and felt a little thrill when he ordered the zinfandel. Such a delicious red wine, California zinfandel. Except the wine that came out was bright pink. I've had my fair share of white zin in my life, and I'm not an elitist, so I sipped at my white zin.

"Do you like your wine?" he asks.
"Yeah, it's nice," I say lamely.
He sipped at it, making small smacking noises with his mouth. "Tastes like Beringer's. Kinda dry. Sutter Home is sweeter."

I was speechless. It's one thing to be unpretentious about wine, it's quite another to pretend to be a wine aficionado and say the equivalent of, 'Well, I can tell that it comes from a bottle and not a box.'

I try to get through dinner but I had long decided that this would not happen again. It was painful. We tried several attempts at conversation, but I found themto be unsuccessful. For instance, he unveiled his brilliant theory that NONE of us are actually American, because we're not Cherokee, or Navajo and they're the only REAL Americans, the rest of us are from somewhere else. "So none of us are actually American," he concluded, citing several TV shows he'd watched on the subject. Then he ended triumphantly: "See? I didn't need to go to college to be smart."

At the end of dinner he suggested we go to a bar for a drink. I agreed, hoping that at least I'd be out in the city somewhere where other people would be, and maybe there'd be a good band or a pool table or SOMETHING to make the night better. Where does he tell me he's taking me?

Oh yeah.

At this point I decide I need to reel him in. I told him that I was new to the city, and that I could go to an Applebee's ANYWHERE. I wanted to go to cool neighborhood, IN the city, somewhere we could sit down and chill out, like a neighborhood bar. He looked at me nervously as I was saying this, dumbfounded, and then finally stuttered, "Well, we can just, you know, TRY it, and if you don't like it we can go somewhere else." He could not comprehend why I'd object to Applebee's for an after-dinner drink. At 7 pm on a Saturday night.

So I went. And I was home and in bed, gratefully all alone, by 9 pm.

And that was the last time I went on a date.

so he drank like a river when the wedding bells rang

Work is going well for me, I'm keeping busy and doing all sorts of fun cases. Mostly drunk driving. Drunk driving cases go like this:

Client: "Yeah, I had a few beers, but I wasn't drunk."
Defense attorney: "The problem is, you blew a .18."
Client: "But I was fine to drive."
Defense attorney: "I know you were. But it's illegal to drive if you're over the legal limit, whether or not you were 'drunk.'"
Client: "But I wasn't drunk!"
Defense attorney: "The open beer the cops found in your car doesn't help either."

Lather, rinse, repeat. For additional shine, add any one of the following: hitting a parked car and claiming it pulled out in front of you, hitting a pedestrian (allegedly), insist that you were just going to drive the two blocks back to your house, insist that the beer bottle was not full of beer but rather you took the bottle out of the bar with you so you could pee in it later, and insist that the police test the aforementioned 'beer' to see if it was urine.

You can't make this shit up.

Also, another fun part of drunk driving cases is that the police will arrest people for driving while intoxicated. The arrestee then blows way below the limit, but instead gets charged with driving under the influence. Moral of the story: Don't drive drunk and don't drive sober.

and I don't mean guns or towels

I recently covered a case for another attorney. When I looked at the file, I realized that I had actually covered the case on the last appearance as well. On the last appearance, in which he had been released from jail after clearing up some procedural things, he thanked me extensively. I told him that really I hadn't done anything, that it was virtually predetermined that he would walk out that day anyway, and that all I did was get up and smile for the judge. To which he responded, "And that's a very pretty smile, because I'm gettin' out."

After the second time I covered his case, he took me aside and asked if I'd come back again for the next court date. He wanted me to represent him from that time on, but that he would understand if I couldn't. I said thanks, but this is another attorney's case, so he'll continue representation. "I like your style," the client said.

I told the attorney this story later. "Your client asked me to come to court on his next appearance."
He said sharply, "No. I'm his attorney, I will handle his case."
"Yeah, I know. That's what I told him. Don't worry - I'm pretty sure that when he said he liked my style, he really meant that he liked my rack."

not funny.

Coulter jokes about killing John Paul Stevens. 

 

Yeah, that's a real knee-slapper.  Ha.  Don't try a comedy tour. 

 

I seem to remember reading something that said Stevens was actually a conservative appointee and that he, at least at the time of his appointment, was a Republican.  I think the same article argued that his opinions had not changed over the years but rather the court shifted so far right that he's now on the left. 

so tired cannot be coherent

Scorpions can survive almost 15 months in plaster? Yuck. I like these types of internet stories. Like the one from earlier in the week about the US Navy capturing a pirate ship. Arrrrrrrgh matey. From this same part of my brain / heart, I love Magic Cookie's new template. Roawrr.

A while back I saw a friend who reminded me that the last time I saw him, I made out with his little brother. He told me that his little bro had been digging me all night, which flattered me because when was the last time anyone 'dug me'? He then went on to say that his little brother asked him at one point, "Is WomanoftheLaw crazy, or just really fun?" And he told him that I was just really fun. I was flattered to think that so many people thought I was such a bundle full of fun! And then a few days later I realized that when this can be confused for crazy, maybe it's not such a good thing.

Along the "is she fun or just fucking crazy?" line of thought, I had an hour to kill last night and didn't want to stay at work but didn't want to go all the way home either. I grabbed a bite to eat and started sending random text messages for company. Although I swore I would not email him until he emailed me, I sent him a text message. "Tell me a joke. To be fair, I'll go first." I typed out a cheezy second-grader joke and sent it to him. If he texted me back with something like, "I don't know any jokes" or "Huh?" it would be a deal-breaker. Also, the respondent joke itself could indicate whether this man is worthy of my crush.

He sent me back 4 text messages. The first one was the joke. The second one: "Wait for it..." The third one was the punch line. It was precisely as stupid and cheezy and second-grade as the joke I had sent him. Other friends to whom I made the same demand didn't even come close. The fourth text sealed the deal for me, it left me in a fit of giggles. "Ha!" it said. He laughed at his own joke. Via text message. If that doesn't mean that this is the man who should marry me, well then, you're dead to me.

Work has been overwhelmingly crazy this week and I have to work late tomorrow and I'm exhausted and coming down with a violent illness and would most definitely like to adopt a new tagline on my blog: "Would rather be sleeping."

here, have a few links

Theo returns as Red Sox GM.  Oh thank heavens.  The Sox have bungled enough contracts in Theo's absence, please Theo, make it stop!

 

Interesting NY Times article about an excellent teacher at Riker's Island who apparently has been temporarily suspended for political bureaucratic reasons.  Some teachers sleep with their students - this one helps them get GEDs and college courses.  And this is his thanks.  I think I would like to teach in a juvenile facility as my next career.  If they try to fire me, I'll know that I'm being successful.

 

Sentence in death of Iraqi angers son - Speaking by telephone from Iraq, Mowhoush, 18, decried the military jury's sentencing this week of Chief Warrant Officer Lewis E. Welshofer Jr. He emotionally recounted his own arrest and seeing his father shortly before he died in an interrogation room in northern Iraq.

 

Slate article from a few days back:  Can someone else pay your taxes?  Sure, if you pay taxes on the taxes.  That was one of the lessons I took away from my federal income tax class in law school.  The federal tax code is really somethin' else, man.  I wasn't particularly psyched about the class on a day to day basis, but it was interesting to learn about something that affects my paycheck every other week.

 

 

on being a new attorney: hidden insecurities

I'm afraid that I suck.

Law school has done very little to prepare me for the practice of law. I went to a very good law school, I can recite criminal procedure jurisprudence on command, I read Supreme Court cases for fun (even the non-criminal ones, just so I can 'stay fresh' on things like federal jurisdiction and civil procedure). And yet, none of those things did one lick of good to prepare me for what I do day to day. I'm not sure that it should, necessarily - I think the only way to figure out how to work in the court is to actually work in the court - but I spend so much of my time trying to figure out what is happening and trying not to fuck it up that I'm just spent. I can't even hide in my office anymore because people keep finding me.

One day, after a previous long hard tiring day at work, I had to cover a case I knew nothing about in a courtroom I knew nothing about (it was just a silly administrative matter, really) and the judge just made me feel like an ass. The outcome was what I needed, but nevertheless, I walked out the courthouse doors sniffling and just decided to take a walk and cry, cry, cry. The most privacy I'm able to get these days is on the sidewalk in front of court. How sad. I finally walked to some cracked fountain where homeless people drink out of paper bags (there were some bottles lying about) that overlooks a small teeny triangle of grass and the highway. I cried for about 30 minutes and it felt so good. I cried because I feel so incompetent, I feel like people must think I'm such an idiot, I have no idea what's going on half the time and it is so tiring to be fumbling around every minute of my day. Sometimes I miss being able to know what I need to know - being able to look it up in a book, or debate an issue 'in theory' without anyone having to serve more jail time or lose their kids or be deported for it. Things happen so quickly, snap judgments need to be made, and then I always wonder if there's something else I should have done.

I hate that law feels so, I don't know, alpha male. The guys just act like they don't need the help, that they don't want anyone else helping them figure things out, they'll do it as they go. It's been frustrating, because it makes me feel like my anxiety is a personal flaw - that if I can't do this without getting so worked up or getting 4 people's opinions on it, if I feel like such an ass all the time, then it must be because I'm not a good attorney.

Then, as I was saying farewell to a court interpreter with whom I had not worked before, I heard the words I needed to hear.
"Are you new or did you transfer from somewhere else?" she asked.
"Oh no, I'm new. Just here a few months now."
"Really? I wouldn't have guessed it. I thought for sure you had worked somewhere else before. You're very good. You speak very confidently, and you really seem to know what you're doing."

I melted. I couldn't help but collapse in a heap of overwhelmed gratitude. It had been a long day, and I felt like it had been a good day, but it was so nice to hear someone tell me that I had done a good job.

zealous vs fruitless vs useless advocacy

If your client does not appear for a court date and you don't have a good explanation, i.e., funeral / hospital / in jail, do you argue to stay a bench warrant?

 

In my mind, that seemed to be part of this job.  At least sometimes, there's an argument like, "My client has made all other scheduled appearances" or "My client just told me yesterday that she'd be here, it's possible that there was a last minute transportation / childcare / health problem and she's already left me a message, can you stay the warrant?" 

 

Because most of the attorneys in my office have so many years of experience, they've all developed their own work habits.  This is one of those habits - unless they have heard a good reason from their client, they don't argue to stay a warrant.  They also get annoyed when I choose to do things that they do not include in their routines.  I don't think they realize that when I choose to do something that may be fruitless but hey, why not try, they get snippy with questions like, "Why bother?  What's the point?"  It's true - most of what I do in court is a foregone conclusion.  But don't beat me down for trying.  I don't see what the problem is with just trying.  In some cases, I have no good argument - the client has every reason to flee the jurisdiction or not show up - and I don't try to argue against those.  I can't try and vouch for every client because then I lose my credibility before the court.  That's what attorneys say when they tell me not to argue at all.  But I don't think that's necessarily the case.  I don't think this is useless advocacy.  I don't think I need a foolproof reason to argue against issuance of a bench warrant.  Let me wear down on my own time - if I find that sort of practice habit doesn't work for me, let me eliminate it myself. 

 

How does arguing against a bench warrant differ from, say, filing a suppression motion?  You know that you will probably lose, but that doesn't stop you from making the argument.  And you never know, you might get a judge feeling particularly law-like that day, and just maybe they'll see your argument and just might agree with you.  It's not useless to file suppression motions - although it may be fruitless. 

 

For practitioners, students, observers, and citizens out there:  What do you think?  If you were sitting in the audience watching a courtroom or if you were a client or if this were your case, what would you say?  Do you try to argue against a warrant being issued for the client's arrest, or do you just chill until they're hauled back into court?  Does it matter whether you think the client will get thrown in on bail when they're brought before the court?

file under: lines I will use daily, henceforth

An argument developed between two females on the street. As the argument escalated, one girl turned to her friend and said, "Bitch, hold my hoops" and handed over her considerably large hoop earrings.

Bitch, hold my hoops.

Hysterical.

random stuff

I decided not to email him at all. I waited the standard 2 day period, but by that point, I had finally come to terms with the truth: he is not interested in dating me, and I don't want to convince him otherwise. Additionally, my free time between now and the end of Feb has filled up quickly, so I don't have the time to email him or the time to go to this function. That's that. He'll call or email if he wants to talk.

Sometimes I can't believe that I'm really an attorney. Today I felt like a real attorney. Despite the fact that I was not in my office this morning, the supervisor found me AGAIN. I think this is day 10. He's like a heat-seeking missile. And then he said, "Are you avoiding me?" which made me smirk. I actually had been running around on a case this morning that ANOTHER supervisor, out of the office at that time, called me on to cover. So now I have two supervisors who seem to have identified me as a good little worker monkey. Anyway, today ended up being busy, in a good way. I felt like a real attorney.

This week, I have broken my office coffeepot and a beautiful ornate desktop clock that I got as a gift for leaving my social work job. I have horrid peripheral vision - it's not a vision problem, but rather a perception problem. My brain doesn't really seem to care about what's going on in the three feet of space around me. Thus, I often kick, elbow, hit, and bump things and people. Sadly I had two casualties this week. Three if you count that cute thing with hinges that sits on my desk and no longer quite closes all the way after a nasty tumble.

I've recently had people inquire about my dating experiences. I think I'm an excellent storyteller. I think I'm pretty amusing, I get pretty dramatic, and I know which details to highlight. (I'm not sure how funny these dating stories would be if I wrote them out for you. But I promise I will try.) On each of the occasions when I've recounted an example of a recent unsuccessful date, I've done so without the storytelling effects. No drama. No slant. A mere objective recountenance. And yet, each time I've given the straightforward example with no entertainment intentions, my audience was rolling with laughter. That, my friends, is a sad state of affairs.

calls for VT judge to resign

A judge in VT is experiencing some public outcry over his 60 day sentence for sex abuse that occurred over the course of 4 years.

"The solution to these concerns requires quick and effective treatment," the judge wrote. He also noted that Hulett tested at a borderline intelligence level, has the emotional maturity of a 12- to 14-year-old and did not understand why others were so upset by his actions.

Republican Gov. James Douglas said Thursday the judge should consider resigning. He condemned the 60-day sentence as insensitive to the victim and her family.

"When a grown man rapes a small child, justice is only served when the criminal is behind bars — for a long time — paying for his inexcusable crime," the governor said.

on being an attorney: why you should be a solo practitioner

I am in the process of applying for a loan repayment grant.  The grant requires a letter from my employer verifying my job description (to make sure it is indeed a legal, public interest job), my starting date, and my salary.  I asked my supervisor, he said to ask the head office administrator.  I asked the head office administrator, she told me to call a woman in HR.  I called and emailed the woman in HR, she's been out sick.  I call another HR number.  Finally someone calls me back and I tell them what I need.  He tells me that they need something in writing to release my start date and salary.  To release this letter to me, you need my written permission, I ask?  Yes, he says.  Also, the job description is a problem.  He needs to call me back.  I come back to my office at the end of the day and find a message telling me that they don't need my written permission (I had already given it to him) and will give me a letter with my salary and start date but that they cannot give me a job description.  I need to get that from my supervisor or office administrator. 

 

So the only thing standing in the way of me getting this loan repayment grant is the crap paying job I took that qualifies me for said grant in the first place.  

on being a new attorney: should I really be allowed to do this?

Gosh I'm tired. Someone must have sent out a memo indicating my boredom, because it came in from all sides today. Suddenly I'm the most popular worker monkey. "Do you want to help me on this?" "Want to work on this trial with me?" "Can you cover this case for me?" "Can you cover this case for me?" "Can you cover this case for me?"

Resolution: Not to be seen in my own office anymore. Ever.

The supervisor makes the rounds and I don't know where he's coming from, but somehow I'm always in his direct line of vision or the first attorney he sees. I need to get better at ducking him. Today, he asked me to do something really cool, so naturally I assumed another attorney would be helping me with it. That was not the case. Also, it did not take just a few minutes. It lasted about 5 hours past the end of my workday. Thanks boss! Let me stop. It doesn't bother me that he asks, because let's be honest, if anyone should be doing more work, it should be me, the one doing not much of anything. I'm happy to do it.

However, is it really a good idea that no one else is here to let me know whether I'm fucking this up? No seriously. You're going to let me do this? I've never even had a trial, shouldn't this be going to someone who has done a trial before? Because I don't even know all the possible ways that I could fuck this up. Do you realize that a citizen's liberty is on the line here? Maybe our clients are onto something when they ask for a real lawyer.

The worst part of all of this is not the apprehension or anxiety or looking like a fool. I'm getting past that. I learn a lot more and get much more done if I embrace and announce my ignorance. I'm lucky that there are plenty of people - court officers, attorneys, judges, cops - who are willing to work with me when I smile sweetly and exclaim, "Why, I do declare, my pretty little head wouldn't know a thing about that!" Ok, I don't really say that, but the sweeter and more helpless I look, the better outcome I get. Ignorance really is bliss, for now anyway.

The worst part is how I feel afterwards. I'm always convinced that there's something I did wrong. I probably should have done something else. I probably fucked up something royally. What did I miss? What was I supposed to do? It's so hard to shake that feeling. In most cases, there is probably something I could have done differently, but that doesn't necessarily make it wrong. And inevitably I could have done something wrong, but that doesn't make it fatal or irreversible. And if I did something wrong and fatal and irreversible, well then I shouldn't have been sent to do it in the first place.

It takes me a long time to shake off that feeling. Every day I go to court, every time I have a particular assignment, every time I'm doing something that is real lawyer work, I have at least a solid hour of dread afterwards. I'm always waiting for someone to tell me how much I suck or fucked up. It hasn't happened yet, and I know that I'm more competent than I feel, but I can't stop panicking after everything I do. It's a sucky way to get through a week. Thank the sweet Higher Power for cabernet and Oreos.

only funny to me.

This headline cracks me up: Israel suspends contact with Pat Robertson.

It makes Pat Robertson sound like a country. Or Israel like a girlfriend.

I: Why you gotta be callin' here all the time?
PR: I done told you I already sent the baby's check. Imma mess you up next time I see you.
I: This is SO OVER.

Is there a restraining order?

EDIT: Pat Robertson apologizes to Israel. Or, "Baby, come back. I promise it'll be better this time, boo."

how can I tell if I'm That Girl?

I'm panicked because I just had one of those terrible realizations that I might be one of those people that he's nice to, just because he's so nice. He's the one that is nice to the most incredibly annoying people I know, people that I tolerate on occasion and consider myself a saint for doing so. He's nice to them and will never say a bad word about them. I don't like to speak badly of other people, but when they're objectively annoying, it's not being mean. It's just the truth.

He emailed me, after not responding to several emails and text messages. It was a cordial email. He's willing to go to this other thing I want to go to. But holyfuckinglord, maybe he's just trying to be nice. He didn't seem excited about it in the email. I think it might be true. Can it possibly be true that this whole time I've just been the charitable acquaintance? No. It hasn't always been like this. Just since that lunch in October. Before that, I thought there was a shot. Now... now I'm just sad, and tired. Why am I wasting so much time and energy, when I keep swearing that I'll stop? I need to stop.

But I do need to email him back tomorrow...

but how am I supposed to tell if I'm That Girl? I told him last time, if he can't make it, I can find someone else. He seemed hurt when I insinuated that last time, but when I said it he finally committed. That wasn't my intention - I just wanted to go to the comedy show, and wanted to make sure I could find someone to go, and if not him, then I needed to know enough in advance to find someone else. What do I say this time? "Hey, I realized that you're super nice to XYZ even though you don't seem genuinely stoked to hang out with XYZ, so I just want to put out there - don't come if I'm XYZ. I can find someone else." That's what I want to say. I also want to say, "Hey. I like you a lot. And if you aren't thinking about me in a way that makes you determined to kiss me softly on the lips at the end of the evening the next time we see each other, then don't come. I can find someone else."

That's probably not true either though.

Fuck.

today's news

Baltimore's finest - busted for drugs, porn, rape

 

Five teens freed after DA drops rape charges 

Graham's lawyer, James Corbo, contrasted what happened to his client to the fate of five former Milton Academy students accused of statutory rape after an oral sex session with a 15-year-old sophomore girl in a school locker room about two months after the Bromley-Heath incident.

In a deal with prosecutors that could spare them any jail time and clear their records, the Milton Academy teens agreed last June to undergo counseling, complete community service, and serve at least two years of probation.

''The difference is that in Milton the students walked into the court with their ties on and got probation," Corbo said. ''And these five African-American kids sat in custody for 13 months on extremely high bails."

Supreme Court to hear DNA death row case

Alito is no Roberts - Dahlia Lithwick

customer service my ass

I had to call a financial services company to look into organizing my retirement accounts.  I was given a toll free number to call, so I called it.  I don't currently have an account with this particular company, but since I know people who work for the company, I figured why not them?  When I called the toll free number, it prompted me for my social, to access my account.  Knowing very well that I don't have an account, I dialed 0#.  It told me that it didn't recognize it, then lectured me on why it was important to punch in my number so a rep could better assist me.  After trying to make the lecture end (unsuccessfully) I finally just punched in my number, then #.  Then it told me it didn't recognize my number, so I tried again.  It still didn't recognize my number, and refused to acknowledge anything else I tried to press or yell into the phone.  I was perplexed.  How can I call them to open an account if I need an account to call them?  So I found another phone number on the website and called that, then had to wait FOREVER to be transferred.  The wait itself didn't bother me, but then when I was advised 1. by the person who did answer and 2. the person to whom I was transferred to call THAT 1(800) number from now on, I told them what I did and how I tried. 

 

WOTL:  So if I have questions about this paperwork, which number do I call then?

Rep:  Call [number].

WOTL:  I tried that earlier, and it asked for my social, and then didn't recognize it, because I don't have an account.

Rep:  Ohhhh, ok.  Well yeah, go ahead and dial 0#.

WOTL:  I tried that too.  It still wouldn't let me talk to a person.  Then it lectured me.

Rep:  Yeahhhhhhh, well, you can go ahead and call that number again, and just keep trying until you get through.

WOTL:  Yeah, but I tried calling, it wouldn't let me talk to someone, and I don't have a number that will get the machine to give me a person!

Rep:  Yes, well, you can just keep trying to call that number, and keep trying until you talk to someone.  Just go ahead and dial 0#.

WOTL:  !!!!!!!

 

Let me get this straight - you're telling me to just sit here and punch numbers into a phone while the automated voice admonishes me about the importance of putting in the right number so it can pull up my account to better assist me?  And just keep doing that?  Over and over?  And this will solve my problem HOW?

resolve

It seems that I'm not the only one harboring this unhappy feeling of despair. You all had some nice emails and comments to share. I've also had friends disclose the same feelings to me, without me even mentioning how I was feeling. It took me by surprise how many other people felt this way. Sorry kids - but it makes me feel a lot better. Misery loves company!

I had another unfulfilling day today and then came home to find a bad letter from one of my lenders. A letter that gave me some cryptic form-letter reason that my loan was not locked into the 2.77% rate and that instead I'd have to reapply at the %4.7 rate. So, like any reasonable woman with a sad life and an overdrawn checking account until the next paycheck would do, I started sniffling and tearing up at the idea that I'd be bent over for EVEN MORE INTEREST to repay, therefore cementing my belief that my diplomas will heretofore be hung on the side of the shopping cart out of which I will be living.

Several things then occurred that actually made my day better than when it started. The first two things were the customer service reps at two respective lenders. They were actually so nice, and so insistent on finding the right answer for me, and were so kind and patient, that I have no choice but to send gushing letters to their respective bosses. They were the nicest people I've spoken to all day. [refer above to 'sad life.'] The third thing that happened to me, that led me here to eat treats and drink tea and curl up on the couch with the laptop while I shriek happily and unabashedly along with Kelly Clarkson (that's right! I said UNABASHEDLY and KELLY CLARKSON) is that I received a genuinely funny email from a fellow blogger that made me genuinely laugh, and for the entire past 30 minutes, I have been in a genuinely good mood. That's something notable.

This was going to be a post about resolutions, but I'm not ready to do those yet. I know what they are (they're the same as last year's for the most part), and when I share them, like I said to NotGuilty and Sanchovilla, I expect you'll help keep me to them. Mmmmmk?

unplugged

This article on Slate discusses why it's both economic and compassionate to pull the plug on a ventilator because the dying patient couldn't pay her medical bills.  It's an odd thing to think about, and I get angry sometimes when I read articles defending otherwise very sad and disheartening commentaries on the state of the world by using an economic analysis.  It's sad enough to think about people losing their homes or their children because they can't afford to make ends meet.  But to think that people are too poor to stay alive - and that decisions are made like that - stuns me.  What angers me most is the juxtaposition with the Schiavo case.  The state and federal government were trying to COMPEL a woman in Florida to stay alive against what it appeared her wishes were - all while permitting the death of a woman in Texas because she was poor.  Shocking. 

luckily I'm an athlete

So, now I have to explain this. First, I have to say that being unhappy is different from having regrets. In this case, I have no regrets, I'm just unhappy, just for right now.

I hadn't said anything to anyone at all about the fact that I was feeling sad and unhappy, and I hadn't blogged about it because I didn't want it to be concrete or permanent. And the reason I finally blogged it on Thursday night was that I had a moment where I realized that I needed to accept that I was sad and unhappy. And Friday morning, when I woke up and remembered, and found a mailbox full of responses, I immediately regretted posting. Just like I knew I would.

I thought for a moment about deleting it, but I knew I couldn't. Because it wouldn't make it go away - I had already put it out there, and I couldn't evade accountability for it. I had to start thinking through it.

I started thinking about why I was feeling this way. I didn't want to be unhappy, because I was in the midst of so many new things - new job, new location, new apartment, new lifestyle. I'm not supposed to be unhappy in those things, right? I worked so hard for it. But yesterday, I finally forced myself to accept that yes, these things are hard. Not being sure of what I'm doing, of what's next, being afraid and uncertain of what my future will look like, or how things will unfold - these things are all scary and difficult. And I finally realized that I didn't want to admit that I was unhappy because I know that it is only temporary, and since it was temporary it seemed foolish to be unhappy about it. I finally accepted that I was sad and unhappy and then I was ok with the fact that I know it's only temporary. Work will pick up, my new place will start to feel like home, I'll start to feel comfortable with where I am and what I'm doing. It will happen.

Today in day 2 of my epiphany, I started to realize a little bit more. This morning I was cut off from the internet for most of the day (gasp) and couldn't get on to the blog to say, "I'm alright! I'm oooook. I figured it out." Having nothing to do, I watched some Arrested Development on DVD, drank coffee in my pjs, wandered around my apartment bored and listless. I finally got around to catching up in my journal, which I've been both 1. meaning to do and 2. avoiding doing. Then I put together a photo album of my law school pictures, something I've been meaning to do for 3 years. All this efficiency driven SOLELY by the lack of internet!

As I put the photos in the album and wrote out my angst in my journal (a much better forum for such emotional outbursts) I realized that part of being nervous and uncertain about what's new is getting over what's old and familiar. I thought it sounded silly to admit that I loved law school more than anything I've ever done, and that I miss it more than I've missed anything. Whether that's foolish or not, that's how I feel, and I need to be ok with the fact that I loved the people and the experiences I had in law school, and that I miss them so very, very much. I cried a little bit, on and off, and I was distraught to realize that there were so many things that I never captured in pictures, there are so many events and moments and wonderful things that I don't have tangibly documented.

This same feeling has happened to me before. When I graduated from high school, I was devastated that all of my friends were scattering and moving on. I was, too, but I had moved around most of my life and was never close to my extended family and for the first time, I felt like I had a home and an extended family with my high school friends. But if you tell other people that you miss high school and your high school friends, and that college was disappointing and difficult at first, people mock you and think you're crazy. It took me a while to learn how to continue old friendships in a new, changed lifestyle. Yet, to this day my high school friends are still family to me, and I don't regret that they're so important to me or such an integral part of my life.

So it's like that, all over again. Except this time I think I know a little bit better how to be flexible about doing new things and being in new places while still integrating the people and things that have come before. I'm sad and unhappy and angry that the best experience of my life was finite, from the beginning. I'm sad that it had to end, and I'm pissed that nothing will ever be like that. But I'm delighted to have had that time and those experiences, and it was time for them to end anyway, really. As long as I can acknowledge fully what this transition means for me, I know I'll be fine.

And oddly enough, as soon as I finished shedding a tear or two over the photo album and the journal, the internet magically started working again. And it all coincides with bringing in A New Year.

My bestfriend&roommate from law school told me a story about her mom. Her mom is very friendly, extroverted, bubbly, and sometimes flaky woman, and I love her as though she's my own mother. The family was taking a walk one day while they were in a European city on vacation. Her mother tripped on the sidewalk and took a wicked digger - a hard fall, nothing graceful about it. As the family looked on in horror and amusement, she bounced up quickly and said breathlessly, "Luckily I'm an athlete!" - a comment to which the family was not really sure how to respond. I laughed my ass off when I heard that story, and ever since then, when I stumble or walk into a doorway or bash my knee or foot into some stationary object (I have terrible peripheral perception), that line comes to mind. And today, as I look to recover from this stumble and move onto what's next, I think, "Luckily I'm an athlete!"

if you tell anyone else you're so dead to me

I have been avoiding chronicling it, I won't admit it, and I usually chalk it up to just being 'moody.' But after going out tonight, meeting with friends, doing new things, having a really good time, I've come back to the quiet solitude of my room and found that I can't escape what is, at this moment, my truth:

I'm unhappy.

today's news

Warrant denied; city prosecutors and police trade blame from the Baltimore Sun

 

Two year old boy found drunk while mother goes into labor: his BAC was .09 - NY Times

 

Leniency Bid for Officer in Louima Testimony: let him rot, I say.  - NY Times

 

Life and Romance in 160 Characters or Less:  Washington Post on the culture of text messaging.  I've done my fair share of drunken text messaging - apparently I've moved past drunk dialing and drunk emailing and into drunk texting.  Drunk blogging?  It could happen.  It may have already.

 

 

 

on being an attorney: how being a new PD is like being a Disney cartoon character or a drunk college kid

I didn't want to blog but I had to get that cheesey picture off the top of my page. So what occupies the thoughts of Woman of the Law?

WORK

I'm not sure how much I can blog about it. To be honest, there isn't much going on right now, which is understandable. I do have a few general observations about my own sense of what I thought criminal practice was going to be, and what it actually is. I guess my biggest observation about it right now is that I'm shocked how much it looks like my job is just to shovel shit as quickly as it gets dumped on me. A lot of it is just trying to move things along. I'm trying to guage from my peers what my role in the courtroom is, and I honestly thought the environment would be a bit nastier, a bit more acrid that it is. I really thought that it would be quite apparent that I was NOT a cog in this machine. But it's not really apparent at all, I don't think. That it isn't may actually be a really great thing. I'm not sure yet. It is important to me to be respected in the courthouse(s) in which I work, so I won't be visibly obstructionist just for the purpose of being so. However, the disrespect for other human beings in that courthouse is staggering. The way the DAs treat me as though I'm unwelcome infuriates me. To some extent, though, they're right. I'm not one of them. I don't fit in this system. I'm not here to make this system work. I'm here to make sure this flawed system doesn't pin its crushing foot on the neck of my client.

I'm getting more comfortable making 'arguments' that are actually legally irrelevant but sound good. Everyone knows I'm new anyway, so I might as well I start arguing things that are favorable for my client, and I'd rather look foolish by asking for something that is impossible or impractical than not ask for it at all. There's one judge I see frequently, and all I can say is, bless the sweet lord for patient souls like that. Also, I like to think that every time new attorneys come on, it's time to shake things up a bit. We're here for a fresh perspective, and I think it's our duty to keep that strong.

On the other hand, when I seek assistance from other attorneys, I frequently get a short, harsh, "Why are you doing that?" I'd like to chalk up all my youthful ignorance to just 'putting a fresh perspective on things' but that's probably not really true. I am just generally ignorant. Most attorneys have been practicing long enough that the way they doing things makes sense to them. I'm of the, "Why not give it a whirl?" mentality - because as long as it's not wrong, and even though it might be a waste of time, I've got plenty of time to waste. If it doesn't necessarily help but can't hurt, why the hell not try? I appreciate that each and every attorney tries to explain to me why, although it seems swell, some of the things I want to do might be legally irrelevant (see above). That type of information is generally helpful, really. Other times, I just get annoyed that the way I handle my cases depends on which attorneys are in the room. I don't have any particular individual who supervises what I do throughout the day, which is a freedom I enjoy but can sometimes be frustrating. One attorney will have one theory on my case, and rarely do two attorneys see a case identically. This often results in my progressing merrily on a case that looks like a case I've already done, so I'll go about handling it that way again, until someone stops and sternly points at me and says, "Stop being stupid." They don't really say that, but that's how I feel. Sometimes I get so turned around, trying to separate what is definite and what is just a preference for each attorney. It throws some chaos into what's already, unavoidably, a very bumpy learning process.

And now for the appropriate metaphors and similes. Let's see. It's like being Bambi, trying to get up on wobbly legs, and then trying to walk - unsuccessfully sometimes, wobbling, getting a few scrapes and bruises along the way. And then having your mother shot in front of you. (Just kidding. Ok, that's not funny. Yes, I am going to hell). OR, it's like being WASTED your freshman year in college, and you're just trying to get back to your dorm room, and somehow you've managed to trip over every tree limb or crack in the sidewalk or car parked on the side of the road, and the only way you get down the hall to your dorm room is because the walls are there for you to crash into them, left, right, left, right, as you stumble to your bed. I'm just crashing drunkenly into walls at this point. I'm really looking forward to being in bed.

And on that note, good night.

Happy Holidays

iTunes fucking SUCKS

I always keep my iPod on "manual update" because I don't keep music on iTunes on my computer. I only keep my purchased music there. Well today I had the BRILLIANT notion of setting it to auto-update only selected playlists, but what that meant to my iTunes was that ONLY THOSE PLAYLISTS are now on my iPod. Which means the other 1200 songs are all gone. Done. No more. Just in time for my long trip home this weekend.

I've never particularly liked iTunes, and if I hadn't gotten an iPod as a kickass gift last year, I'd be using Napster. Listen to me, children. NAPSTER. $15/month unlimited downloading to an mp3 player of your choice (anything except an iPod). Fight the revolution. Fuck the iTunes.

another slow day

As my officemate toils away on the phone trying to get a client's car back from the prosecutor and police department, I'm sitting in my desk chair dancing like a muppet to "Little St. Nick" by the Beach Boys.

TRAITOR

Johnny Damon, you are dead to me. 

 

You're going to look ugly with short hair. 

another heart-melting non-date

We were in the first row of the third balcony, which meant we had to lean forward a bit to see the stage through the railing. He and I were the only two in the front row. The balcony was dark but for the bits of light cast from the stage. The comedian we were seeing was great - I laughed the entire time. About two-thirds of the way through the show, I was laughing so hard that my cheeks hurt, and I heard him laughing next to me. At that very fraction of a second, I was about to link my arm through his and happily lean into his shoulder. I was startled by my own thought. Instead I turned to look at him and noticed that he put on his glasses when I wasn't looking. He has gorgeous eyes, a rich turquoise color, warm and reassuring, in a way that make you believe that he is sincerely only interested in what you are saying. I'm a sucker for glasses. Seeing his glasses framing his eyes, set against the dark brown curls of his hair, made me melt. It made me wish it could be more, but it gave me a pleasant hope that maybe there is someone out there with whom I will eventually link arms and kiss on the cheek.

I swore off this guy as a romantic interest after this incident but I'm failing to abide by my own vow. So now that you know who I'm talking about, how shocking is it that I saw him again, and heard his voice again, and melted again? We hit it off so well way back then, and we did so again that night. At his suggestion, we met up for dinner and beer before the show. I called him when I was in the neighborhood and he was just a block away from me. We agreed to meet at the corner. I walked toward the corner, trying to make it look like beauty just naturally exudes from me in my long, nicely cut red wool coat, with my shoulder-length hair bouncing off the shoulders and my cheeks red from the cold air. I was hoping I looked more like a Pantene commercial and less like I was so anxiously anticipating seeing him. As I approached the corner, I saw him peek around, and we saw one other. Too many people and too much distance still separated us. I couldn't help but smile at seeing him, and we both pretended to look away - but I saw him biting back a smile too. After an eternity I made it to the corner. We hugged, exchanged excited hellos, and moved on to the restaurant. It was perfect - we sat in front of the fireplace, had dinner and some good beer, and had such a good time that we lost track of time and ended up dashing out of the restaurant 8 minutes before we were supposed to be at the show. When we got there, we ended up waiting in line for an hour, outside in the freezing cold, shivering. After an hour of waiting, and mourning the loss of beer not consumed, we got into the theater, one of the last ones in line, and trudged through the historic old building to the tiny top balcony.

What I most appreciated about the evening was that it was not like that lunch in October but more like our previous interactions with one another. Our evening was filled with effortless conversation and an occasional comfortable pause. We get along well for no discernable reason. It's a great feeling, to feel so comfortable with someone that you feel like you know better than you actually do, while knowing that it's going to be so enjoyable to get to know all those things you don't already know. I like talking to him and trying to figure out on my own why it is I like him so much, to dig for a reason why we should get along so well.

Once out of the theater, we rushed to catch the train. As we cut through the cold wind, we agreed that it had been a great night. "We need to do this again sometime. We should definitely do this more often," he said. I'm so glad he suggested it. We were going in different directions. In departing, I instinctively gave him a kiss on the cheek as we hugged, and wished him a Merry Christmas. Right at that second, it seemed like the train station went into slow motion, like everything in the scene would have been black and white, and we were the only ones in color. Not in a passionate, "get in my bed" sort of way, but in a, "this is the guy that every woman wants to have as a best friend, husband, and father of her children" type of moment.

I like him a lot. I thought I had tried to let him know I was interested, and it never went anywhere before. I don't have it in me to try again, but that doesn't mean I'm still not harboring some hopes. If nothing else, it gives me a good idea of how I want to feel in a true relationship. I can't wait to hang out with him again, even if it does end this way every time.

Terrorism is: not having someone cart your ass around

In a Yahoo article about the subway strike in New York City, one woman says: "It's a form of terrorism, if you ask me," said Maria Negron, who walked across the bridge. "I hope they go back to work."

 

Are you KIDDING me?

 

(Let's set aside the argument over whether the subway employees should be blamed for this).  I'm sure that walking across the Brooklyn Bridge (an activity that I imagine many tourists do in a day) is excruciatingly painful to Ms. Negron.    However, why are we still throwing around the word "terrorism"?  I know the Bush administration equates everything with terrorism - Islam, library books, Cat Stevens, etc.  I insist, nay, DEMAND, that my fellow Americans stop using the word "terrorism" to describe when things do not go their way. 

 

In that case:

Terrorism is the toy aisle in Target last week. 

Terrorism is that Dunkins coffee now tastes like crap. 

Terrorism is paying $5.04 for a Venti Non-Fat Pumpkin Spice Latte at Starbucks (and using those precise words to order it). 

Terrorism is that I paid $1,694,325,27.00 for law school just to have my clients ask for a real lawyer. 

Terrorism is the faulty tupperware that leaked my leftover dinner all over the work clothing I had packed in my bag this morning.

 

If we don't let the government spy on its own citizens, says Bush, then we've let the terrorists win.  The fact that we even question that secret, previously undisclosed, government spy program means WE HAVE LET THEM WIN.

 

ENOUGH WITH THE TERRORIST BULLCRAP ALREADY.

Here is a New York Times article on a women's prison in Minnesota that has no fence or walls separating the grounds from the rest of the residential community.  The community opposes building the proposed wall.  I do wonder what effect the no wall / no fence structure has on the inmates, and whether building a wall will actually create the feeling of the need to escape, or if it will create more tension and violence within the walls of the prison.

woman returns to the net

I've been catching some heat for my lack of updates, and for that I apologize. You see, I was without a regular internet connection for a few months now, but I'm back. I think. I've rigged up a new connection with the help of some updated technology and my next door neighbor. I'll be back in action soon enough. (I haven't finished my Xmas shopping yet, no promises until after the holidays!)

The other problem with the blog is that I'm not sure I have all that much to write about. Sans internet, I don't even know what's going on in the world. What do you want to know, exactly?

I'm going to go catch up on my blog reading. See you soon.

I have a pair of shoes I need protected too

With assault rifles over their shoulders and body armor strapped to their chests, Roberto Paleo and his 17 officers are among the world's most heavily armed park rangers. Yet they guard one of nature's most delicate creatures — the monarch butterfly.

defending 'those people'

My supervisor, bless his heart, is adamant about not letting me take on cases right now that aren't easily resolved - for instance, cases that are pled or dismissed at the first appearance.  I appreciate this; however, starting in January, I will officially be on the schedule like a real attorney, instead of 1/3 of an attorney like I am now, and I anticipate that this will result in a lot of fumbling on my part.  So yesterday I begged him to let me take a few cases in the afternoon, cases that won't all be resolved by the first appearance but maybe by the second day in court, and he relented. 

 

One case turned out to be a classic case of alleged domestic assault.  The complaining witness showed up to court on behalf of her husband, who was my client.  She spoke with me directly and told me that she did not want to go forward with the charges and that she advised the District Attorney's office as such.  Up until she spoke to me, I had been working under the assumption that a certain plea offer would be made, if any offer were being made, and if not, then it would progress as cases do when they aren't resolved in the first two appearances.  Once she stated that she had no intention of going forward, I knew that the DA would not be able to pursue the case.  Thus, as far as I'm concerned, any plea would be a bad plea.  I explained to the complaining witness how the legal process works and what the DA needs, generally and from her in particular, in order to go forward.  She stated to me that she was not going to do any of those things.

 

I was talking about my day with my roommate, and explaining generally that I had a case that will end up falling short of the legal burden necessary to go forward, and how this excites my legal mind.  I didn't feel bad, or dirty - as a matter of fact, I felt like I was doing competent work.  And of course I still believe that this case is progressing as it should.  But I stopped when I realized that my roommate was grimacing slightly, and I realized it was one of those, "How do you defend those people?" moments. 

on being an attorney: growing pains

Yesterday was a crazy day, and I ended the day frustrated and tired, but in a good way!  I then decided not to keep my appointment to join the gym and instead went and drank beer with coworkers, and it was totally worth missing the OC and Reunion to do so.  Beer never tasted so good.

 

Today I have a whole bunch of cases that will be doing things I've never done before.  It'll be a long day and I can't wait to see what sorts of stupid things I do to embarrass myself today.  Nevertheless, I'm really happy to be working some new legal muscles.

 

I confessed to a coworker yesterday that I was getting frustrated because although I think I'm getting much better at asking questions, it seems as though I'm getting answers to questions other than the ones I ask.  This happened to me twice yesterday.  The first time it happened was in a group discussion regarding the use of a particular strategy.  I suggested that it's best to look at it as though it is an actual defense in the cases in which this procedure would apply, so you are considering that course of action just as you would any other defense - and then figuring out which one is best for your client.  The attorney leading the conversation then immediately warned us that we should never use it frivolously, that once we start using it on all of our cases then no one will believe us when it actually is the case, and that it's a bad idea to get in that habit.  I'm pretty sure that's not what I said, and I felt crappy that her response insinuated such.

 

Then I was asking another attorney that if there's no disposition on a particular date, at that time then... and he cut me off and told me not to let people rush me along or pressure me into a disposition.  He gave me very good advice regarding how to make sure the court doesn't rush me into doing something inappropriately or without enough consideration.  After giving some very good advice, he then took me to meet the next client.  However, I had another very specific procedural question that I never got to finish asking, and to which I still don't know the answer. 

 

I'm not complaining though.  I am very happy that all of the attorneys are so patient with us and so insistent upon us asking questions.  It's become a joke amongst us new attorneys, this question & answer phenomenon.  We've all experienced it and we're learning to consult with one another frequently to compare notes about what we learn in a day, because we all have the same blank slate and it's nice when someone who is equally in the dark can help you figure out how to piece our accumulating knowledge together. 

getting over it.

It's been a tough few weeks.  Work has been hard.  It's difficult to adjust to a new workplace, with all the different personalities and practice styles and all the other things that go into office dynamics.  I had a few days where I was trying really hard not to cry at work, and one day where I had to hide in my office, listening to my iPod, and then just left early.  Nevertheless, I've tried really hard to stay positive and stay focused this week, trying not to worry about all of the gaffes and stumbles I make in a day's work, trying to remember that I'm here because I want to be here, and that I'm not going to know everything at once.  Like one of my favorite attorneys told me, "We've been here for 20 years, and it's insulting to think that you can learn everything I know in just a few weeks.  Accept that this is the first time in your life when you are not in control and you don't know everything."

 

Last night, I went to dinner with friends, and afterwords I stepped into a bookstore to look around.  I went to the bathroom, which is off the children's section, and while I was in there, a male and female entered the handicapped stall next to me and loudly and openly were using and exchanging drugs - either cocaine or heroin.  It was a really disturbing situation.  Then I got home, all depressed, and found that someone had broken into my apartment building, and had vigorously attempted to break into my apartment.  The doorframe is beat up pretty badly, although for some reason, they didn't actually make it into my apartment.  The locks on the door to the building were completely ripped off the door with a crowbar. 

 

And then of course, the landlord called the cops, who show up, and I have to listen to them talk about how there are a bunch of kids in the neighborhood, they're all punks, all rabble rousers, and I think back to the fact that just yesterday I was trying to take on all of the teen cases, because I adore them, I think they're angels, I love working with them.  It's hard to be in that position, yet again, where as much as I love my job, I also wouldn't mind kicking my attempted burglar in the shins repeatedly.  My car got vandalized, there's open drug use and dealing going on in a large bookstore bathroom in the children's section, and my little apartment in my little neighborhood is all torn up. 

 

I tried to remember what it was like to live in not such a big city.  Like when we discovered that our front door had been left wide open all night and our only fear was that a skunk or raccoon may have made its way into the house.  Or to have all your friends within walking distance, and to have a house and a yard big enough to have people over, and it didn't take so much effort to get everyone in one place.  Or what it was like to look up and see a sky full of stars, and the night was always quiet. 

 

I'm feeling really drained, and really lonely.  It's one thing to struggle to get accustomed to a job, but it's another thing when your support system is fractured too.  As per usual, the only thing that makes me feel better is to have one eye on the door - to have a Plan B, an escape route.  I don't like the fact that the only thing appeasing me right now is the idea of escape.  I'm going to keep trying to work through it all, keep trying to tell myself that it's just kind of tough right now, but that there are wonderful and amazing things on the other side.  For the first time in a while, I'm really not sure if that's true or not.  Maybe this is adulthood.  Maybe this is just how it is.