But Slenderly. . .

But will I be this much of a peach tomorrow?

Wow, I am not in a good way. Everything has been fine dandy until I woke up this morning in a stew of horrible, rotten, no-good very bad mood. I overslept.  I had horrible cramping ouch premonition of period. My hair was annoying. I threw a shaky-shake ball for the cat in a moment of forced gaiety and got scolded by Herr Husband that "it's early still."  I dropped my blackberry on my toe and it made a clatter and got scolded again by Herr Husband "What are you doing out there!"  TOE, jesus gay, toe. 

I don't like my shoes.  Were they always so . . . brown?

I missed my train, I ran around to meetings, I wasn't productive enough. I cried because I thought my plant could be dying.  I forgot to eat lunch. I still hate my hair.

I stopped by a friend's office and she said something vaguely snide about my not responding to one of her three emails requesting comments on a letter. I cried in my office for a while, snuffling into my Hale & Hearty paper napkin at the hurtful wrongness of it all. I wrote a very polite and formal f-you email.  DK called. I got a heaping dose of "tough love."  I apologized to friend. I put a dumb argument into brief and resented in my heart. I read bad case law for thirty minutes. Hair? Hate. DK called and started to play devil's advocate in one of my cases. (Why? WHY?). I felt myself get well pissed that if he loved the plaintiffs so much all of sudden, why didn't he marry them already.

I haven't eaten dinner.  I haven't written my secretary evaluation. I haven't done my time.  I haven't turned in these taxi receipts. I think I may cry again for the hell of it. Am going to retire to bed.

Photo Journal

Things I like:

(salt celler)

(cat tummy)

(my shoes this morning)

(my ring)

THINGS I DO NOT LIKE:

(working until 11:17 pm)

HOW I FEEL UPON REALIZING I HAVE TO BE AT WITNESS INTERVIEW AT 8:00AM TOMORROW:

(Dyno-mite!) (note the sarcasm) (even though in looking at that photo, I appear thrilled.) (Nonetheless, sarcastic in the heart.)

Back again

I feel like I've been in an evil game of chicken with myself.  Wow, I wonder how long can I go without posting? v. Dude, I've got things to post about!  Things looked bleak there for a while, given that my down time has been pretty limited the last couple months, and I feared things would end badly, all Footloose horrible with one tractor smoking there in the water and someone throwing their cowboy hat in the dirt in disgust.  But I missed writing non-law-things.  Though, seriously, I just writing started this and realized I have to run meet my little sister who just moved to NYC from London for a drink in like twenty minutes.  You don't want double talk; you want Bob Loblaw! 

Sidebar: I so dearly miss Arrested Development.

So, while I generally like to tie my little stories together, even by lazy way of "My Sunday Morning" by Nancy Blogger, today I'm breaking out the list form.  Ahem.  So: RANDOM THINGS THAT HAVE HAPPENED DURING THIS EXTENDED ABSENCE

• A couple of weeks ago, an old man on the subway purposefully whacked me with his cane.  He apparently did not like the cut of my jib as I high-heel tapped in front of him and let me know it with a swift, if painless, whap.  I turned around, shocked.  He looked at me defiantly and then hobbled off, muttering about god damn young women think they run the world bitches.  Report him to the friendly neighborhood officer standing ten feet away?  I briefly considered it since my ire was up – I mean really, a HIT! with a CANE! is really beyond the pale – but eh?  Crazy is as crazy does and I ended up just turning back around and loudly stomping up the stairs with my heels of domination.
• Weirdly, this isn't the first or even the second time that crazy people have been all up in my grill for the way I walk.  One guy in Grand Central turned around one day to inform me that "your goddamn heels are giving me a goddamn headache."  Okayyy.  Then a homeless guy followed me for about two blocks telling me I walked like I thought I was the Pres-i-dent of the U-nited States.  I ignored him.  He followed me, singsonging "Mrs. President? Mrs. President" until I turned around, took out my earpod thingies and said in the firmest, most rational voice I could muster, "That is enough.  It is time to leave me alone now."  And he did.  But what's going on? What is it about my stride that beckons the crazy to verbally smack me down? I guess it's . . . purposeful?  I walk quickly, sure, but I'm not an arm-flailer or anything. Well, if ever I meet you, you can let me know what gives.
• I have embraced my inner-attorney lately and well?  I'm a little proud of myself.  Not in some dumb L.A. Law sort of way, just I've had some new things thrown my way that I've never done before and am happy that I did well. Gold star, little camper!  I have also realized I am not so good with the delegating.  Needs must delegate.
• DK and I have walked so many miles around the city lately, I feel like I deserve a merit badge of some sort.  Many of our walks are in search of what has become my holy grail: the perfect herb pots for my window box and herbs to go in them.  This should not be so difficult, yet I have pawed over and rejected so many vessels I might as well be a . . . um, well, insert analogy of your choice because I cannot think of one.
• My dad is having surgery in his inner ear Friday.  I wake up nervous every morning and will that everything will go smooth as smooth can be.  And yet I don't call.  What is wrong with me?
• I went to a birthday party last Saturday and played a mean game of tipsy darts.  It was like a micro-scale Flowers for Algernon story arc.  Started off not great, sub-par, but functioning, hitting the board at least.  Then, a rapid, awesome run of glory.  Hitting bullseyes with a snappy little wrist flick.  I owned that dart board.  But alas, like poor Charlie *cue violins* the downfall was sudden and painful.  The last couple rounds every single one of my darts went AWOL.  No one of injured, but many of the bar patrons wearily stepped back or turned away in pity.  I began to forget I had ever hit the board before. 
• My story ended on a happier note, however, when in the last round my first two darts ate air and the last won the game with a perfect X marks the spot.  Booya!  Who can slap on a happy Hallmark ending to their sad story of epic genius and loss? Call me Thomas Bowdler, if you call me at all. 
• I am always goddamn late.  You'd think I loved the office considering how hard it is to freaking get me to move my ass off this chair.  What's up with that?  I'm already five minutes behind for my sister. Welcome to NYC, here, wait by yourself in a strange bar, ho ho ho.