When Justice is Due

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.

Perpetually Thursday

I am not complaining, but it always feels like it is Thursday.  The beginning of the week if frenzied in terms of my day job, so there is no time for writing Monday - Wednesday.  Thursdays are when my life slows down a little - I don't have evening commitments and work tends to ease up a bit.  I starting getting psyched about writing on Thursdays, and try to put my energy to use Friday - Sunday.  I guess there are worse days that you could be perpetually stuck in!

The Calm Before the Storm

Listening to the news this morning, it sounds like I either need to get ready to visit some Munchkins or start building an Ark.  It's hard to believe with the beautiful blue sky overhead that thunderstorms of Biblical proportions are supposed to hit the area tomorrow (I also love that the majority of the weather coverage is focusing on the effects at the Talladega Motor Speedway - you have to have priorities, right?).

Tomorrow is the day I look forward to all month, though.  There is a writing club which meets in the morning at one local library, and my RWA chapter meets later in the day at another library.  This is usually the best day of the entire month.  I spend the entire day in libraries talking about writing.  And it looks like stinking rain, wind, hail and weather baddies are going to keep me at home.

So what am I doing during the calm before the storm?  Charging up the battery on my laptop (because you know I will  lose power tomorrow; I always lose power), printing everything I might need off of the internet today, and trying to find the silver lining by rejoicing that I will have nothing to do but write tomorrow. 

Oh yes, it is going to rain tomorrow.  Rain words!!!

Planning to Plan

I woke up this morning determined to get things done.  I'm doing okay at the moment.  My stack of "work" papers is manageable and has dwindled to the point I am contemplating calling it a day so I can focus on writing. This is where I always get myself in trouble.

I look forward at the rest of the day and weekend savoring the hours I can fill with productive writing.  The delicious anticipation allows me to sneak a peek at Facebook or Twitter or my email, or heck, why not all of them?  I have the time.  That is how it always begins.

How does it end? Somewhere around 5:00 on Sunday when I've done very little and decide to throw in the towel for the weekend and plan to do better next week.  Trust me, you don't have to sing this song twice. I know the words.

Maybe I need a better plan.  I am contemplating making myself prepare a schedule for tomorrow and Sunday, posting the sucker everywhere I can see it, and giving my husband the ability to punish me by depriving me of my remote control rights if he finds that I am not sticking to the schedule. 

Then again, I did miss Vampire Diaries and V last night.  I could watch them on the internet and then put together my schedule.  After all, I do have time.  And so it begins . . .  

Rabbit Rabbit!

I loved to read Trixie Belden books when I was in elementary school.  I still remember the first chapter of "The Mystery of the Emeralds" where Trixie woke up on the first day of the new month, yelled "Rabbit Rabbit" and bounded out of bed. When her brothers reacted in a way that expressed they thought she had lost her mind, she explained her behavior.  If you say "Rabbit Rabbit" and make a wish just before going to sleep on the last night of the month, and say it again in the morning before you've said another word, your wish should come true.

I read that book when I was eight.  I have tried to remember to say "Rabbit Rabbit" before going to bed and when I woke up ever since.  I haven't been able to do it yet, and quite a few years have passed since I was eight.  But I still keep trying.  The promise of my wish coming true drives me to keep trying.

The same is true of my writing.  I keep trying to write a good story.  I'm not sure I've gotten it, but I keep trying because one day, it will happen and my wish will come true.

Today is the last day of the month.  I think I am going to take a trick out of Trixie's book and tape a sign at the foot of the bed to remind me to make a wish and say the magic words.  You think that you know what they will be?  I'll give you a hint - "Sleep is for wimps - get your fanny out of bed and start writing."

Rabbit Rabbit - may your wish come true.

Somebody's Got a Case of the Mondays

I truly wish I was one of those chipper, optimistic, bubbly people who bound out of bed on Monday morning excited to embrace the week's challenges.  Instead, I am the person that greets them at work, growling over a cup of coffee while calculating the hours, minutes, and seconds until the work week is over.

I'm not sure why I am this way.  My job isn't horrible.  I am my own boss, and I generally like the work I do.  Don't get me wrong, there isn't a day that passes where I don't want to smash my mouse against the wall or shred the phone cord to threads.  I have only myself to blame for that one - it wasn't exactly a well guarded secret that the legal profession was stressful and involved conflict.

I think the problem is that I would rather be writing.  I feel anxious all day until I can get home and write.  I live for the long weekends when I get that precious weekday to include in my writing routine.  This should have been one of those weeks except, being the dunderhead that I am, I forgot about Good Friday when scheduling a meeting OUT OF TOWN for Friday.  I'd thought I was being sneaky - schedule the out of town meeting in hopes of it ending early so that I could scoot straight home.  Yep, I just outsmarted myself out of a long weekend.  Way to go genius.

So, I have a case of the Mondays.  I look ahead at the long week that will end with a two hour drive to Auburn for a not so fun meeting that will likely end with a lot of screaming to be followed by a two hour drive back. I need to make sure Memorial Day is circled on my calendar so I don't do this to myself again.

Having the Stones to Write

I normally don't have much time to write. It really stinks, actually. I have a demanding day job that I WISH could be nine to five. It is more like nine to midnight, if I am lucky. I made a promise to myself to shlog through November and finish my two works in progress. I had a plan. It was a good plan. Somewhere around 3:10 a.m last Thursday, the plan went to hell.

I woke with a pain in my central rib cage and shortness of breath. After a hearty meal at the Cheesecake Factory (what could be healthier), my first thought was that I had heartburn. A few Tums later, nothing changed. I woke my husband and made him drive me to the hospital. I felt like a total hypochondriac in the ER admitting area (although, I must say, the lack of a sense of urgency with the triage nurse perturbed me to no end).

I know I need to eat better and exercise, but I love gooey, cheesy, flavorful foods and sitting on my big fat keister. Simple pleasures - when you find them you have to savor them. However, fearfully I gave my me eculpa to the ER doc, promised to put myself on the straight and narrow, and begged him to make the blasted pain go away.

Several hours later, after an ultrasound, x-ray and blood work, I got the verdict. Gall stones. I had gall stones. I am only 36. This guy must be kidding me. And his delivery, oh it was priceless.

"You have gall stones. Your gall bladder needs to come out. Here is a list of two surgeons. Do you want us to call one for you, or do you have your own?" Like I keep a surgeon on speed dial.

I find myself now trying to rearrange a work schedule, sneak in the much needed house repairs in the next two weeks, and schedule a surgery. My poor plan was the first casualty. I had a color coded calendar and everything.

The question remains, during my downtime following surgery when I am confined to my bed, will I have the stones to write?