Mood’s been a bit down. I was forced back to the cube on Thursday just in time to beat my head against the wall with pointless bureaucracy. The end can’t come soon enough, but is mandated by one of the top realities of the Business of Law:

A law client paying their bill between Thanksgiving and New Years is as likely as [insert witicism of futility here].

They say they’re going to pay. They even tell you when the check will be ready But they lie make technical errors. Junior needs a new Malibu Stacy. The little darling’s new bicycle cost more than expected. Ya know, little Pongo needs a new Malibu Stacy too. His last one passed through his digestive tract weeks ago, and I don’t like the way he’s eyeing my dress shoes.

I love the Practice of Law, and will gleefully return full-time to its embrace soon. The Business of Law is a painful pill I’m supposed to tolerate for the pleasure of practicing, so I do.

But not again until Monday, because my first Christmas party of the season is tonight. Appetizers (because my name starts with C) are broiling now, chosen completely on the recommendation of my Snackmaster, Micky. Water chestnuts wrapped in bacon. If they go over well, he gets all the credit; if they fail I’m sure I messed up the preparation somehow. I’ll let you know.

Comments are closed.