I'm a trial lawyer. Yep, the maligned evil being from political ads. It's okay. You can shudder and hide your children. I own my profession. I know what I am. I help people. If television ads want to vilify what I do, I'm happy to spend a little time examining the truth that can be summed up in a ten word tagline or ten second soundbite, if you are happy to oblige me the time.
That being said, the law is a bitch. That's right, I said that as well. You can never do enough. One of my professors advised that you have to accept varying levels of incompleteness. I have problems doing that, though. Maybe it is because I am an only child. Maybe it is because I am a spotlight junkie. Maybe it is because I am a little nutty. Who knows, but I am a slave to perfectionism.
Other than the obvious problem associated with this personality quirk, never being satisfied, I have found a new, and wonderful stresser. I can feel unsatisfied and frantic on two fronts! The joy!
I'm starting to worry my first book is becoming the Winchester Mystery house, always under constant renovation and revision. Add to that my shredding trial schedule, and I really don't know how I can get anything done. Oh, and did I mention I need to get the house painted, new carpets installed, and septic tank fixed?
I'm out of town for depositions right now, and likely won't be able to look at writing until this weekend. I'll also need to do laundry, and check emails. Oh, and then there is the brief I need to write. I almost forgot the 3,000 documents produced by a defendant in a case that I need to review. I also imagine some people will want me to return their calls.
I've got all of the balls in the air right now. Let's hope none bonk me in the head.