Writing

I love to write. Real old school, pen and paper writing. I love the connection to the paper. I am one with my thoughts. I look at this computer and don’t have the same connection. I start at a blank screen and just see a flashing curser instead of words just begging to be written. A blank computer screen is an undone assignment; a blank sheet of paper is a tragedy. My two cents. And now I feel all curmudgeonly. Like an old woman on a rocker on the porch, "In the good old days..." Blah.

So what’s on my mind today? Or is it in my mind? Anyway, we got our work pictures that we took last week back. My hair was as incorrigible as I expected. Part of me just laughs at it -- I mean, I have a mind of my own, and it appears that b/c of the proximity my hair has to my head, my hair likewise has a mind of its own. Plus it’s at that length where it hits my neck, so it dries sticking out in all angles. It's kinda cool in a "this looks ridiculous" kind of way. I can accept that about myself. The photographer was fit to be tied. Hey, he's just going to airbrush it away anyway. Can you beleive that?! We're a law firm. They are air brushing our pictures. They will air brush loose strands of hair away. They will whiten our teeth (I was told that they didn't necessarily need to whiten my teeth since I don't have cigarette or coffee stains unless I'd feel more comfortable with them doing so. I just gave them a blank look.) They will do something to get rid of the undereye bags. (Too bad they can't do that in real life. But hey, that was the testament to my work scheduled because of the trial, and they want to erase that, like it never happened.) We are not a modeling agency. We are a bunch of lawyer dorks. Why is this necessary? Hire the prettier law firm?? Geesh. We are one of the premiere law firms in this area on the city, and they are concerned with white teeth, hair out of place, and bags under our eyes? How about putting up a chart of our win-loss record? Seems more... relevant... than whether my teeth are white. My mother is simply mortified. "WHY DIDN'T YOU AT LEAST COMB YOUR HAIR!? IT'S STICKING OUT IN EVERY ONE, SOME MORE THAN OTHERS." For the record, my hair was combed. It dried that way. But I'm used to mortifying my mother. I swear, that poor woman just wonders how the hell she bore me. She must think on a daily basis, "I'm so normal. Her father is so normal. Maybe she's adopted??" If only I wasn't her spittin' image...

So, I have purchased my tickets to the Move On/ACT Vote for Change REM concert here in Cleveland on October 2. I also have a wedding that day. My godbrother. I have decided to attend the concert. My mother is (again) not pleased with me. (Are we noticing a theme here?) "You’re thirty years old, Stephanie, I can’t exactly tell you what to do." (Make sure as you read that, you inflect the appropriate mother scorn and disappointment in her voice.) I didn’t feel it was the appropriate time to complain because she was adding two years to my life. I didn’t want her to end my life before I lived those two years.

Part of my job is to feed the Managing Partner. I have no problems with this part of my job; when I clerked for my Judge, I had a similar job. Right now, the Managing Partner likes nuts. It started as peanuts one day. He walked in and said, "Stephanie has good food in her office; what can I eat?" Then a few months later I bought a thing of mixed nuts, and he explained that he preferred the mixed nuts. It’s actually amusing. There are a couple of different people who he had different foods in their offices (he doesn't keep food in his office because he's on a diet). It’s nice to have the Managing Partner visit occasionally as well. He's a friendly sort. A bit odd. Toys in the office. (And maybe when they hand out bonuses at the end of the year, I’ll end up with an extra thirty dollars for his peanuts.) But it’s the things like that you never really realize go into being an attorney. I should write a book. I don't even think that the Job Goddess covered that one. (Any law students/lawyers out there NOT familiar with the Job Goddess?)

At my office, I have great power over pens. I am quite particular with my pen of choice. I like the Pilot Precise Rolling Ball. Extra Fine. Blue. Never black. I have an aversion to black pens. I’m actually quite prejudiced against them. And I’m not sure why. As for as I remember, black pens have never done anything bad to me. They look somewhat professional when you sign your name on letters with them (I’ll sign my name in an Fine Point Black Sharpie on letters - my first choice - if one is handy. So it’s not black THINGS, it’s just black pens. Sharpies aren’t pens. Sharpies are markers. They say so themselves. "Permanent Marker.") Oh, but back to my Pilot Precise Rolling Ball Pens. NEVER the Deluxe. Why ruin a great thing with a rubber thing attached? Take that as you will.

Yoda has asked me to do some research for him. Another partner has asked me to do an arbitration with him this Friday, and he'd let me do the opening and cross. Hmm...which one seems like it's more fun? Then again, who did I say yes to first. Gak. Isn't Yoda tired of me yet? Meanwhile, I have a summary judgment for the managing partner due a week from today (he just walked in and asked me about it. Sigh.) I was hoping to take some time off. Or at least leave earlier. Guess that plans in the crapper. Meanwhile, I have three OTHER cases that I have ignored for six weeks while preparing for trial that are demanding attention. I guess it never really does leave.