All Things Profane and Sacred

My last month or so of blogging is a graveyard of half completed posts describing time that is dead to me now. I'm starting to jot thoughts down in my home diary, and if the no internet at home thing continues, I'll probably eventually end the blog-no point having this damned thing hanging around my neck if I'm not going to update it at least once and a while.

A lot of my thoughts these days are focused on client stuff, and a lot of what occupies my mind or is frustrating or funny or sad is stuff that I gotta take with me to the grave. Its a hard knock life, I guess.

I had a weird moment today in tribal court when the judge asked me to stay after and talk to a couple of law students from an out of state university about life as a young lawyer and practice in tribal court. So I did. Including the bit about how the bar exam fried my mind for a bit (I didn't mention the new and wonderful world of what my doctor tells me are migrains. That shit started right after the damn bar, so you can't tell me there isn't a connection. Nor did I mention the substances that got me through the bar exam and most days. Not that I'm the only one. If you've read the OAP's latest newsletter, and I'm sure you didn't because I'm the only one who did, you'll see that several attorneys responded that pot was what made their life liveable. And those were just the really honest ones.) and how fucken hard it is to sit around jobless, and how much the long empty days full of failure fuck with your ego, your expectations and your sense of self. And how much of your day as a lawyer you spend second guessing yourself, your motives and your abilities. Neat how things come in threes, isn't it? Anyway, I did clue them in to some of the good stuff too, but I guess I wish someone would have told me some of what I told them today-not that I'm sure I would have taken it to heart at the point they were at, but whatever. Does this make me venerable?