My positivity and my will to surge forward seem to have deserted me this week. All I want to do is sleep, hide from the world, from work under the covers of my bed. I need to get to the gym but here I am sitting in my cave-like office, staring alternately at the computer screen and the lovely juxtaposition of gray and peachy-pink over the horizon of the city, the lights at the ball park glowing like beacons of hope. Wishing that I was there, anywhere but here.
Truthfully, I have been a bit stuck at work too. I need to change it up and move to a different division. Yet, in the tumult that has become my life, work was a safe harbor, one place that I still felt somewhat competent, if behind and buried under piles of work. The past two days have turned my safe harbor into something else that seems to be slipping away, spiralling out of my control. To be told that your work is substandard and not up to par with your colleagues' work was a sucker punch to the gut. I stayed late last night, trying to make it better, feeling relieved that the criticisms were leveled at computer formatting errors. Then, today, substantive criticism of my work.
In the 5 years that I have been in my current division, only once have I had to change the actual substance of the law in one of my briefs. Today, I was told that I was wrong about the law and how it applied to the facts of my case. It was done much much more judiciously and delicately than yesterday. But still.
I already feel like a fucking idiot about my personal life, especially as it relates to my latest disaster of the heart--the Duck. Especially thanks to some new wrinkles that developed last week but have hopefully (fingers crossed) been smoothed out. Sometimes, I can forgive myself for opening my heart and trusting that fungus with my innermost thoughts and feelings and way too much personal information. And chalk it up to loneliness and unresolved patterns that I am trying to master. Reassuring myself that at least, I am smart and funny and kind.
Taking comfort in the fact that if men are my kryptonite, the law is my super power. This is not to say that I am never wrong when it comes to the law or that I have never made a mistake; of course, I have. But to paraphrase Danny "Tom Cruise" Kaffee in A Few Good Men: I fucking know the law.* It helps me make sense of the nonsensical, to order the disarray (except for that on my desk), to apply logic to a world gone mad, to my dyslexic heart.** Shelter from the storm, an anchor on stormy seas, a safe harbor from my neuroses.
And to have that derided and questioned was a dagger to my fractured heart. I stated my piece and agreed to reconsider my argument, to look at the relevant law again. My heart danced a bit when I found support for my position. So, I stayed even later tonight and rewrote the challenged section. Making order out of the disorder, cogently setting forth the argument and supporting it with facts, a solid foundation. Yet, I feel unsure and uncertain. Like I am dancing on quicksand. Last night, I felt like I got everything squared away last night only to find myself floundering again when I arrived this morning, my hard work dotted with a sea of red ink.
Boo hoo hoo. I know. Let's throw a pity-party for the poor princess who has it so hard. At least, my shoes were cute.
Off I go into this rainy night, the last bits of pink surrendering to the gathering darkness.
*The actual quote: "You and Dawson, you both live in the same dreamworld. It doesn't matter what I believe. It only matters what I can prove! So please, don't tell me what I know, or don't know; I know the LAW."
An excellent movie about the nature of lawyering, especially trial lawyering. First rate story, dialogue, and acting. Cruise, Nicholson, Moore, Bacon, Sutherland come on! Except the very end, which sucked. The part when Danny's brilliant lawyering results in an acquittal on everything for the two young marines except conduct unbecoming a marine which results in their immediate dishonourable discharge from the Marines. Cue the schmaltzy, sentimental, swelling music when Danny tells Hal that he "does not have to wear a patch on his arm to have honour." And Hal, who finally respects Danny, stands at attention and salutes Danny as an officer for the first time as says "there's an officer on deck." The ending makes me throw up in my mouth every time I watch it, speak about it, or even think about it.
Yes, I am a romantic and prone to fits of fanciful thinking but I am not schmaltzy or treacly. Except sometimes when talking to my daughter...
**Paul Westerburg, formerly of the Replacements. This song became popular after it was featured in Singles, one of the 1990s greatest films on the nature of modern relationships. And one day subject of its own post.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JcMIWKu0ZYE
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