Away We Go....

It's nearly sign-off time at the officino. Within the past three hours, I've received a barage of emails entitled "Columbia: Beware!", subsequently followed by pictures from you wild, reckless, youth-inspired days (nights) upon which we prowled bars like Locals in Five Points. We were 25 and clueless.

As this evening approaches, we are now 32 (or 28 depending on who you ask and how much wine we've consumed) and we're preparing ourselves to be rock stars yet again. My how little things have changed...

Sparkle & Shimmer Friday

Albeit terrified, (of what I have no clue), I’m venturing out tonight to celebrate a friends’ recent promotion. 

• Jeans washed – Check.
• New Top – Check.
• Funky earrings – Check.

I am praying to God that I’m able to pull myself together, feel confident, feel beautiful and kick off a fun, celebratory evening. Here goes nothing.

A Short Reprieve: Girls Weekend in Oak Island, NC

Recently I took a reprieve from myself and travelled to Oak Island, NC, with nine girlfriends who are as different as night and day and yet as similarly connected as darkness is to light.  Terrified of even attending, I didn’t sleep the night before.

• “What if I have too much wine and say something off color?”   
•  “What if I get upset and make a complete and total mockery of myself?”

My fears were mildly put at ease at the thought of driving with a friend who is as old and dear as one can imagine. I remember the day I met her: Sitting outside of the dormitory at freshman orientation at Winthrop University. “That girl has to be the biggest bitch I have ever seen,” was my initial thought. Who would have thought that, months later, while sneaking cigarettes out of the dormitory window that she would reveal a piece of herself so intimate that it changed forever how I would see her and her perspective on the world around her. “People always think I’m such a bitch,” she said, “But I’m actually really shy.” Who would have thought it? We were friends instantly and the trait I value most in her is that she knows where she stands but doesn’t expect you to agree, disagree or adapt to her standings in the least. She has strong convictions, whether it be in disciplining her child, whether or not she chooses to drink one (or 12) glasses of wine, or how much liquor her husband consumes.  She’ll share those convictions with you but will not, ever, not even once, expect or demand that you agree with her or understand her opinions. I am the winner in this relationship, though. Being her friend allows you to freely be yourself without question or judgment in any way, shape or form. She couldn’t care less if you don’t want to do something and isn’t offended if you want to go to bed early or stay out late. It’s not that she doesn’t care about you; just the opposite actually. She cares enough about you to let you be yourself completely and truly.  Being alone in the car with her was like coming home. Talk or be silent. Sing or smoke. Cry or laugh. With her, it’s always “all good” and her sense of humor is unparalleled in my humble opinion as evidenced by her running commentary of the back-road inhabitants of rural North Carolina coastal communities.

Upon arriving at Oak Island late in the afternoon, I was warmly greeted by a stunning sunset and our host, a friend who brings so much warmth in her embrace that you instantly feel at ease and, most importantly, welcomed and appreciated, when standing in her presence. She is light at heart, which is surprising considering she was one of the first to get married and, subsequently, divorced. She is, without question, the epitome of overcoming obstacles by keeping a positive attitude.  She is funny and silly, throwing caution to the wind and being the first to jump at the chance to dance like no one’s watching, yet also incredibly genuine from the top of her curly haired head, to the bottom of her always painted toes. If you are in her presence long enough, you will find that she is incredibly real – facing her own problems and obstacles, just like every other ordinary, conflicted soul that surrounds her. It is the manner in which she handles those obstacles that is so stunning to admire. As we were waiting for the other girls to arrive, the sun began to set on the horizon of the ocean.  It warmed the front porch we were sitting on, and I remember looking over at her, basked in complete and utter golden lightness which is exactly how I see her rain or shine.

As the sun continued to set, a rare sight bounded in with her husband, her dog and her luggage. A transplant southerner with a military dad and a Vietnamese mom, she had travelled from DC for the exclusive purpose of spending time with those that she rarely gets to see. I won’t pretend to know her the way that I know the other girls, though whenever I leave her presence, I always wish that I had had more time with her, been able to hear more of her thoughts, listen to her perspectives and insight and simply be in her presence. She is professional, polished, a stunning woman with porcelain skin and almond shaped eyes that always appear smart behind her glasses. She exudes a wisdom beyond her years and when you are fortunate enough to be amongst her, you will gain invaluable perspective on your own life.

Darkness finally fell, the sky changing from a luminescent purple to a rich navy and as the stars began to peek their eyes through the sky, two more sparkles appeared in the drive, shimmering amongst their baggage which could supply an army of teenage girls with all the glitter and glam their little hearts could imagine. They were there to shine – and shine they did to me. The first friend recently held my hand on a very dark night, the second has shown me more than she knows. Sparkle One and Sparkle Two are quite the pair, being long-time best friends in the greatest sense of the word. It’s strange to think that you ‘know’ someone, only to discover that they are so much more than you ever imagined.

Sparkle One I have known since I was in high school. She was a year older than I was and I never ran particularly close with her circle of friends. Later, in college, she became pregnant and delivered her life, a son, a few months premature. She has become the example of the mother that I hope to be to her son and has fought tooth and nail for everything she has today. She is stronger than she knows or will admit to herself, and is typically the first amongst us to down the shot, start the dance or commence the latest gossip. She needs none of those attributes, though, as her best qualities are the ones reserved for moments that she rarely recognizes. Moments when she takes your hand and tells you you’re beautiful; Moments when she looks at you across the room beneath her long eyelashes and shimmer eye shadow as if to say, “I’ve got your back.”

Sparkle Two and I, as I’ve come to discover, are actually more similar than either of us may want to admit. Creative to the bone and caring to every living soul on earth, she was attending this weekend without her young daughter for the first time since her birth. I was incredibly proud of her; Proud beyond words that she committed time to herself, to her friends, and to me; Time to put the hat of motherhood aside for a short moment in order to giddily laugh at dirty jokes and distasteful internet videos. Sparkle Two is a woman that I admire in many ways – her thoughtfulness is never overlooked, nor is her ability to fiercely defend what she believes in right. I admire that greatly in her though she probably doesn’t know it.

As night finally set in, the moments seemed to be passing all too fast. As precious seconds ticked by, the feeling that our time on that Island was fleeting consumed me.  Time stood still for me though when friend five arrived from Charleston. Ever present in my thoughts nearly every day, she is the pinnacle of many of my own aspirations. A successful career woman, yet free as a bird to release a child-like enthusiasm at a whim, she is a woman of great substance to me. Over the course of the weekend I would soon discover even more substance that lies within her as she grapples with the decision and ability to conceive. She carries each and every event of her life with her. Each moment defining another piece of her so that she seems constantly evolving to me, something I find utterly fascinating about her. Her father’s death, her relationship with her sister, her marriage, her job – these things do not define her, and yet you can see each one of them within her, punctuated in the very best of lights with a calmness that makes me feel at peace when I am in her presence.

Before dinner, the first of two of my soul-mates arrived.  Soul-Mate #1 and I need no words. There’s times where she probably hates me, and I often fear that, in her eyes, I don’t quite measure up most of the time. What astounds me, though, is that despite whatever disappointment I may cause her, she’s there. She’s always there – standing silently in the background either in my presence, or in my heart.  She’s honest to a fault and quick to express her displeasure with any number of things, but beneath her hard exterior lies perhaps the most kind person I have ever met. She hurts just like the rest of us, a fact that she neither likes to admit or express. She recently lost her best friend and I don’t think she knows how badly my heart breaks to see her in pain. I often times wish that there were moments when I could just hold her – or vice versa. I think she knows that though. That’s the thing with her: she always knows.

Just as we came back in from dinner, the last and final addition to our group finally made her appearance. Soul Mate #2 arrived fresh from a husband, a toddler, an infant and desperately needing a date with her breast pump. Perpetually pregnant and strong-willed to the inth degree, she was happy to be free of the endless responsibilities that she endures as a military wife and mother to two rambunctious boys.  She is the first to remind you that you are worth something and the last person on the planet to judge your feelings or dismiss them as being without merit. She listens. She answers the phone. She has been my saving grace in some very dark moments and she bounded up the stairs, breast pump in hand, ready to covet a bottle of wine, scream for the Steelers and offer her shoulder. She carries a silent strength within that she is all too aware of, yet stubborn enough to discard as “nothing”. Her needs are nearly always met last and yet she is the first in line to offer a hand up, a hand out or just an open hand to hold. I grip onto it tightly every day.

Our short reprieve from life in general brought out the best in all of us. Each woman shines brilliantly to me. I see each of them in my mind on the porch that Saturday morning – warming their legs by the bright sun, bundled in sweaters, smiling, beautiful, brilliant.

MUSHROOM RISOTTO

MUSHROOM RISOTTO

Many have asked so below is the recipe for my Mushroom Risotto. To be frank, it's not quite as difficult as Gordon Ramsay makes it out to be, but then again, I probably don't have the Michelin Star review board knocking down my door. The trick is to make sure the rice is cooked, without being too soupey. It took me a time or two to get it down pat but even the first attempt turned out absolutely delicious!

INGREDIENTS

• 2 cups Arborio Rice
• 1 ½  sticks butter or margarine (I didn’t claim this was healthy)
• Bottle of dry, white wine with at least 2 cups of wine left in it (I fully support drinking while cooking)
• 5-6 cups chicken broth (I use the box of Swanson).
• One, 12 oz pkg of assorted mushrooms (typically portabella, shitake and white) – chopped.
• ¼ onion – diced.
• 1 Tbsp. minced garlic (more if you like it)

Melt ½ stick of butter and sauté garlic, onions and mushrooms. Add 1 cup of white wine, keep warm on low temp. Season with salt and pepper.

In a separate, large pot, melt 1 stick of butter. Once melted, add 2 cups of Arborio rice and stir until coated in butter. The rice may begin to brown a bit which is a good thing.  

Add one cup of chicken broth and one cup of wine, stirring every so often until the liquid as been absorbed completely.

Once the liquid has been absorbed, add another cup of chicken broth and repeat with the broth until rice is cooked through, each round allowing the liquid to absorb into the rice. (You may find that you need a little more/little less of the chicken broth - just go with your gut. As long as the rice isnt crunchy, it's going to be great!)

Add onion/mushroom mixture to rice mixture and mix in one cup of finely grated parmesan cheese. Top with extra parmesan cheese and enjoy!

Strange? Yes, But Don't Send Me to the Asylum Just Yet...

It is too sick and twisted if I write my own eulogy before I’m dead? Screw it – I’m doing it anyway. Recent life events including watching a good friend loose her friend with whom she shared her soul and facing the inevitable and impending death of a family member has thrown death in my face, yet again so I figure it’s time to stare it down, and toss out the window any pretensions of what could or would be said of my life. Destiny folks: Grab it by the horns. I’ve often thought about this – though I’m sure some of my friends will sincerely consider putting me in the asylum at the mere notion of doing this now, at 32 years old and in good health. But seriously – I’ve often wanted to make sure that people know exactly what it is I want to say. I can assure all of those reading this that, though it may seen incredibly strange and perturbed, it’s almost therapeutic for me to know that I have shared with you, the most important people, the things that most of us leave unsaid.

Admittedly, I’ve faced off with death a few times over the past 9 months. Questioning it, thinking about how it would feel, how it would impact my family and how I would approach it. By way of confession, I am terrified of dying. I admire those people who possess an unwaivering faith; Knowing that whenever death comes calling, they feel confident in knowing that they will be reunited with those loved and lost up in the clouds somewhere called Heaven. I, myself, am not so sure.

It is with that in mind that I hereby designate two individuals to speak on my behalf should I either A) enter into a horrible accident and die young or B) live to be 110 years old. Whatever the circumstances: you guys are it. Oh, and one more person, my little brother. These two individuals who shall remain nameless know who they are: Soulmates #1 & #2 from Girls Weekend Oak Island post – this means you.  Soulmate #1, no tears from you – though I don’t expect any because that’s how hard-core I believe you to be. Soulmate #2 – I fully expect you to blubber your way through it, and I say that under the absolute best of pretenses.

Soulmate #1:

Thank you all for coming today. Years ago, Lindsay designed me to speak these words. I considered her insane at the time but she insisted that she didn’t want to leave anything to chance, least of all the words that would be spoken about her life and how she wanted to be remembered. On her behalf, I say this:

I’m long gone now and as all of you are sitting wherever you’re sitting, I first and foremost want to thank you for taking the time to be here. I hope that in large part, you are not here for me. After all, I’m dead now. As I write these words I’m not 100% sure that I’ll be staring down at all of you right now.  I don’t know for certain if there is a life after death, or if there is simply an end to the bones and flesh that we are made of. Those of you who know me best know that I’m not particularly a spiritual person. I believe in evolution and think that, for the most part, religions were created to give man a feeling of purpose. It is difficult to imagine that we were put on this earth to live ‘x’ number of years and then simply expire, without having fulfilled some sort of purpose.  That said, whatever death holds is something that I now know and you do not. Be certain, though, that one day you will. It is a harsh reality that we will all die and each and every one of you in this room will soon discover for yourselves that which I am learning at this very moment.

Whatever death is, I know what it’s not. Death is not an end to what I feel for each and every one of you. There is no expiration on the memories, tears and smiles that I graced my face and I can promise you that wherever I am right now, those moments are the pieces of my life that I am clinging to.  You, too, should hold tight to those moments: of my life and of your own, as they are the things that we are made of. Those moments, the joyful and the gut-wrenching, define who we are, what we believe and how we choose to live our lives. It is with that in mind that I want to recognize a few significant souls that impacted my life the most.

To my father who, by this time, is probably long gone and buried – I hope that I can meet you again. I hope that after you passed and learned everything I ever hid from you that you are not angry. I hope that you know how much I loved you and that I treasured the connection that went unspoken between us for years. I hope that you are proud of me. I have missed you and if a God exists, I know that you and I will meet again very soon.

To my mother, who no doubt has out-lived us all if not in body but in spirit, you were an amazing cheerleader to me. I appreciate the things you said and recognize that above everything, it was my best interest that you always had at heart. I hope that if I have children, I have loved them as fiercely as you loved Jason, Parker and me.

To my older brother – You have overcome many obstacles and skeletons that will forever be buried in my memory. Those experiences allowed you to become the man that you are today and I hope that one day you will be able to recollect those moments and see them for what they were: definition. Thank you for the day you drove from Newberry to save me from myself. I didn’t know if you would come but I also knew that there wasn’t a soul on this earth other than you that would understand.

To my little brother – Oh how I miss you. I have missed you ever since you became a man and we put away the childhood pastimes of sitting in the Bradford Pear tree outside our home. I am incredibly proud of the man that you are today. I am incredibly proud of how you have carried yourself throughout your life and along it’s obstacles. Never quit dreaming, never quit loving. Carry with you my love which cannot be separated from you, even in death.

To the man that I hope is my husband– Thank you for seeing me for who I really am and thank you even more for loving that person when it felt like no one else did. Thank you for staying during those hard months and years. Thank you for not turning me away. Know that you are not a failure. Know that you are a good man and a good father. Know that I will pull on the rope with you no matter where I am and when times are hard, I am right behind you, back to back. Love you, Love Me.

To the man that was almost my husband – Never doubt for a second that because I decided not to marry you that I didn’t love and care for you. You have more love and goodness inside of you than any human being should be allowed. My one wish for you is that you find someone who deserves all that you have to give. Thank you for being a part of my life.

To Soulmate #2 (continuation for Soulmate #1): Before you get up on this podium, pull yourself together like only YOU can. You are an amazingly strong woman and one that I have clung to for dear life in some of the darkest moments of my life. You are a good mother, daughter, sister, wife and, above all, an amazing friend. I have unending respect for you. Thank you also for sending me the Twilight series via US Priority Mail – without which I may have never discovered the beauty that is RPatz.  If I see K-Stew I will be sure to tell her how much you think she sucks. Tonight when you get home I fully expect you to make cheese fries and drink of bottle of wine whilst reading Eclipse. In all seriousness, though, thank you. Thank you for making the Godmother to your oldest son – he is a beautiful soul. Thank you for being strong. I hope your children know what an amazing, funny, crazy mother they have. If not, let me tell them right now. Your mother is amazing. She was once a wild, crazy girl. Though she is simply “Mom” to you, she is so much more to so many people. You will never fully appreciate how beautiful she is, how much she enjoys dancing, how she’s the first person to jump at the chance to toilet paper someone’s yard, or what a supportive, kind and fiercely loyal friend she has been to me. You are lucky to have her, but I feel even more lucky as I had the opportunity to see her not only as your mother, but as my best friend.

Soulmate No. 2: you’re up next.

Stigmata

Without downplaying anyone’s personal experiences or tragedies, I often times wish I could abruptly blurt out, “I have cancer”, or “I have a fractured tibia”, anything except “I’m depressed. I feel sad, worthless and lonely. I have horrible thoughts that at times seem uncontrollable. I’m ashamed of my actions, my thoughts, myself. I feel like disappearing.”

Anything except admitting that there are mornings I can’t seem to get out of bed and tears come from someplace deep within me for no apparent cause or reason.

Anything except that I feel safest alone, where my shortcomings cannot be seen or touched.  

Anything except that I feel terrified most days; That on most mornings I have to pull my car over on the side of road to control myself; That I sit there watching the seconds on the clock tick by slowly, knowing that I’m late for work, jeopardizing my job and yet not being able to stop the racing thoughts in my head that make me consider driving either straight off a cliff or straight to the hospital.

I wish I could say anything except these shameful statements, and yet also that I could say them without the stigma that, to this day, despite the popularity of anti-anxiety medications, commonly associates itself with mental illness or disease.

I see a therapist, a GP, and a psychiatrist. All of which have nearly put me in bankruptcy but how do you tell someone that you can’t join them for a slice of pizza because the few dollars you have left in the bank account are reserved for next months prescription without feeling embarrassed?

How do you tell someone closest to you that instead of wanting to spend time together, you’d rather just sit in the dark and shut out the entire world? How do I get the point across that it’s not them, but me, that’s the problem? How do you let someone into the darkest, deepest places of your soul without feeling completely naked and open to judgment, ridicule and shame?

Things are better, though. Over the course of the past 9 months, I lost thirty pounds, sometimes not eating for two or three days. My new medication seems to have alleviated that problem, as my skinny jeans are no longer as appealing as they once were. Who knew depression could make you look so good, right? I don’t pull over on the side of the road quite as often, though, strangely, I feel safest in my car, parked no place in particular, waiting out the thoughts until they pass, dodging my mother’s persistent phone calls and generally waiting for the world to stop spinning long enough for me to gain control again.

Despite Astra-Zeneca and other pharmaceutical companies hawking the benefits of every magic pill from LexaPro to WelButrin, Remeron seems to have been my saving grace. It’s an enormous dose (45 mg) saved for those of us who are seriously disturbed in one way or another. In a different class than the more common anti-depressant’s yet still classified as an “anti-anxiety” medication, it’s sole function is to restore the levels of chemicals that are supposed to occur naturally in the brain. It’s no magic pill, though, that I can promise you. It takes anywhere from 1-2 years for the brains chemicals to regain their balance, even with the assistance of medication. Restoration of those chemicals is not the end of the road, though, but instead just the beginning. Intensive cognitive therapy is the only real answer, that and a whole hell of a lot of blood, sweat, tears, rage, shame, embarrassment, anger, disappointment and more bumps in the road & set backs than any human being should ever have to endure.

It is a seemingly endless cycle of two steps forward, four steps back and most days I feel as though I have travelled a journey of a million miles. Exhausted yet unable to sleep at 11 pm, I spend my days fighting a battle against myself and my thoughts which have proved to be the most frightening opponent I have ever faced.

This battle is fought silently by me and by millions of other people on this planet every day. It is incapable of being described accurately and completely. It is a quiet monster that rages every minute of every day and follows me into sleep in the form of nightmares that play-out the fears locked in my mind.

I wish I could write a.n.y.t.h.i.n.g. e.x.c.e.p.t. t.h.e.s.e. w.o.r.d.s.

Hamburgers, Wild Hogs, Depressive Weather & Dads

I despise days like today. The sky is a murky grey, everything is wet, the air is sticky and everything seems dreary, quiet and still. There is no “life” to anything it seems.  Not even the wind which carries the leaves noisily down

Main Street

stirs any sense of vitality. Needless to say, it is hard to get motivated.

Albeit the depressive forecast, I was able to make what I believe is an important step in my search & rescue for the soul mission: I hit the elliptical at the YMCA last night for 1 hour during which I expended 462 calories and dragged my sorry ass along for 4.73 miles. It’s a small feat, but basically the other thread that I’m hanging on to at this point.

I had lunch today with my father wherein we discussed the rutting habits of wild hogs over a feast of Fuddruckers hamburgers (thank God I hit the gym last night). Yes, I said wild hogs. Recently I had caught an episode of Man v. Wild wherein Bear Grylls caught a wild hog in the wooded backlands of Alabama.  Nasty animals are the wild hogs. Mean spirited and, as my father informed me, will kill a dog or a man in a heartbeat. His advice: always know where the nearest sizeable tree is because, as I learned, hogs can’t climb. Eventually they will get bored with you and run off allowing you time to escape promptly.  

I often think my father and I are one in the same person –trapped souls intertwined in more ways than can be imagined. Although outsiders often comment on my likeness towards my mother, it stems only from the outgoing personality (often times faked) and the blonde hair. Other than that – I am my father’s child without question. I like that mantra – it makes me feel as though he and I share a secret, a connection that cannot be spoken but is felt deeply between only him and me. It is rare that I don’t understand his mood, mindset or logic taken in forming any particular belief or opinion. Our frequent luncheons are a brief moment of time wherein every problem or issue is suspended indefinitely. Sweet relief it is.

Archive: Bah. Humbug.

There, I said it. Saturday morning was a rude awakening, not only for me, but for anyone who was unfortunate enough to cross my path. Call it “waking up on the wrong side of the bed”. Ask me “Who peed in your Cheerios?” Splice it any which way you like. The end result is this: looking at my Christmas tree sitting empty, my bare mantle and my dining room table stacked neatly with gifts to be transported to someone elses home and I had hit my proverbial limit. In a matter of 40 minutes (which may, in fact, be an undisclosed world record) I had dismantled my house of everything Christmas related.

Lights off the tree. Ornaments put away. Funny little Reindeer shoved in the closet. Pine needles swept. Tree tossed on the side of the road for some lucky soul who took it away within an hour. I wiped my hands and stood in the middle of my now Christmas-barren living room.

Sigh.

It was too depressing to look at anyway.

It should now come as no surprise to learn that I am sitting on the couch in my anti-christmas apartment feeling, once again, fairly miserable and searching desperately for any thought or notion of those less fortunate than myself. My grandmother always says that if you ever get down on yourself, it’s important to think of others and their misfortunes which will, undoubtedly, overshadow your own selfish muses and make you feel a bit better about your circumstances.

It’s not working.

Shirley McLaine’s, Ouiser character speaks to me:

Clairee: “You know, you would be a much more contended, pleasant person if you would find things to occupy your time.”

Ouiser: “I’m pleasant! Damnit…I saw Drum Eatenton at the Piggly Wiggly last week and I smiled at the sonofabitch, I couldn’t helf myself!”

That pretty much sums it up for me right about now.

New Year: Need New Job

…we don’t have a lot of time on this earth! We weren’t meant to spend it this way. Human beings were not meant to sit in little cubicles staring at computer screens all day…” (Office Space, 1999, 20^th Century Fox)

A new year and a new journal to document those things which have been lost, misplaced, earned or reclaimed, albeit the former seems to have taken the lead in my ledger book.

 

I am no one particularly special. I am thirty-something woman you pass in the hallways who smiles and warmly says "Good morning" to you at the coffee machine. I can be seen from time to time with close girlfriends enjoying a drink during happy hour. I go to the gym, to the grocery store and to visit my parents for coffee every Saturday morning. On the outside I am exactly what a normal, single thirty-something should be. I am, by all accounts, a seemingly fully functioning human being.

 

But I am none of those things right now. Today I feel as though I am a shadow of my former 'self', clawing desperately to the ledge of sanity and logic; Overcome with emotions that shift violently minute by minute; Silently screaming, for what I don't know. I feel utterly lost and at a loss nearly every day.

 

At this very moment, 10:41 a.m. on Tuesday, January 5, 2011, I feel helplessly trapped in my professional career which makes me feel like the most un-used, worthless, unproductive, without-purpose human being on the planet. I work as a litigation paralegal for one of the better defense firms in the state. I've got killer technical skills, a sharp mind for grasping concepts, a creative knack for thinking of new ways to present arguments or display evidence and I am begging my bosses for work that doesn't seem to exist.

 

I'm amazing with clients, uber-organized (my files are immaculate), highly efficient with drafting discovery responses and genuinely give a damn about the work product that I produce.

 

Everyday I feel as though I have to wind myself up just to drag myself into the office where I start my morning routine:

 

• Review the calendars of 7 attorneys including 3 partners;
• Touch base with each on deadlines for today, tomorrow and next week that I could possibly get a jump start on;
• Review my "to do" list which, of lately has been empty with the exception of perhaps a stray letter to a judge or opposing counsel to request a discovery extension;
• Check and return email (assuming there are any);
• Email all attorneys on all teams firm wide informing them that I have capacity and am happy to lend a hand where needed which, inevitably goes unanswered;
• Sit and wait for the phone to ring from someone (ANYONE) giving me something to do;
• Mid-morning I hike myself down to my primary bosses office asking if there is anything I can help him with. The answer is usually no, and that he's assigned a few tasks to our new associate attorneys who inevitably produce shit work product, mark on original evidentiary documents in ink and bill the client $25 dollars more than I for work that isn't half as good;
• Another 4 cups of coffee are downed as I peruse the CNN, BBC, National Geographic (great "Picture of the Day" segment, by the way), celebrity trash gossip via Perez Hilton and respond to a morning email string to the girlfriends about subjects like marriage and children to which I have nothing valuable to contribute;
• Surprisingly, an email may come through now and then. As a paperless, eco-friendly office our mail is scanned and then circulated electronically to attorneys and paralegals assigned to the case. I read the letter, bill the .10 that it took to review, two-hole punch the hard copy that was delivered and sit it in a meticulously labeled file-folder called "Correspondence".

Next? Let's face it - the job of a paralegal isn't exactly rocket science. A monkey could do it at the firm I work for.

 

Before anyone goes off the handle let me clarify a few things:

 

1. Yes, I am incredibly grateful to be employed. I fully understand the difficult economic times that many in our country are facing and I am appreciative of the fact that I have employment.

 

2. Yes, I actively pursue and look for other opportunities. I look every day, in every job sector, in every city across the United States.  Frankly, Careerbuilder.com needs a stern talking to. Understanding the fact that company claiming to produce six figures by cyber-coding from home undoubtedly provides CB with an endless revenue stream, I find it difficult to navigate beyond those opportunities to find an actual job.

 

3.  Call me picky but the whole point in my career search is to find an occupation that motivates me, challenges my brain to some degree and makes me feel as though I have a purpose in the sheer act  of performing my job responsibilities. Each of us are different. What may challenge or motivate one, may not provide the same benefit to another. For example: A friend of mine is employed as a regional truck driver for a food service company, a job that he absolutely loves. He is in awe of the transportation system and how goods and services are transferred so quickly simply by putting the pedal to the metal for 6 or 7 hours a day. 'Good for him', I say! But no, that process does not intrigue me. Another friend is a mechanic and owns his own business. He is and always has been, fascinated at the inner-workings of the automobile. As a childhood friend he used to take apart nearly everything he could get his hands on just to see if he could put it back together.  During his teenage years his love for cars took over and today he feels excited about what challenges a Ford Mustang or beat-up truck may pose for him.

 

Forgive me for desiring to have the same feeling towards my own profession as these friends.

 

Thus, the question is this: What is it I want to do with my life? What makes me happy?

Answer: I have no *%$*#()#% idea, but I know what doesnt, so I hope that counts for something. Here's what I've got thus far:

• Math;
• Gossip;
• Being told by a colleague, whose sole purpose is to send out birthday and eco-friendly interoffice emails that I, “shouldn’t use the labels so often because they’re expensive”;
• People who won’t put the effort into forming their own opinion but instead rely on what ever is spoon fed to them and then later complain that the news is biased;
• Bitterness;
• Selfishness; and.
• Red beets, just to name a few.

I have three passions:

 

1. Writing.
2. Presentation Design.
3. Litigation Technology.

 

If anyone knows anyone who's interested in a self-starting, proactive, creative, smart, efficient, organized, motivated, talented, intelligent female who has great writing skills, a knack for technology, experience in content writing, presentation and web design and a stellar background in the legal realm - I'm your girl.

 

If, however, your position is one in which you're satisfied with a desk-filler, don't contact me. I am a rare individual that actually thrives in a challenging, past-faced, driven environment so no, I don't want to cyber-code for you from my couch as I eat potato chips.

I’ve been re-thinking law school. It’s not even the thought of re-taking the LSAT that disturbs me but rather the mere thought of sitting down to write a brief of tax law. Shoot me now. But still, it would give me more opportunities to write something, a variety of subject matters I could dig my claws into and an income (oh yeah, that).

I want to write. Whatever job will allow me to do that as often as humanly possible is, I believe, going to be the job for me. That said, I’m not so naive that I would ignore the pertinent and required considerations: I have to eat, for example, and electricity is a somewhat modern invention that I don’t think I can forego.

Option two and one that I’ve been tossing around a good bit is to obtain my master and then doctorate so that I could teach (providing the income and keeping the lights burning) and still have ample opportunities to write on subjects that I actually enjoy (journals, presenting papers at conferences, etc…). The downside is that a professor’s income won’t let me leave the lights burning 24/7, but the upside is summers off, the prospect of tenure and sabbatical and, of course, the writing and research.

Ahhh...decisions, decisions.