It’s Raining Potential Suitors!

I’ve been running around town like mad, trying to find a new match. If I could find a new relationship that I feel positive about by February 14th, that would be perfect! So far, all of my dates have been basically successful. Out of the 6 “first dates” that I’ve been on during the past three weeks, all of them wanted me back for date #2. I only wanted to continue to get to know three of the six, so I tried to let the other ones down easy. I’m sweet like that.

On the first date, everyone tries to make a good impression while subtly feeling out whether they enjoy each other’s company. It’s important to be witty and engaging, and to show the proper amount of interest. If you show too little, you might come off like a cold fish, and no one wants that. If you show too much, you run the risk of appearing desperate. Along those lines, no one wants to hear about your failed past relationship, at least not at this stage. You don’t want to be negative too quickly or you might scare off a good thing. Later, as you get to know each other better, you can divulge those type of details, but not until you know that they’re really interested.

To my great surprise, I enjoyed almost all of my first dates. I was really nervous before the first one, mainly because I had been in a committed relationship for the past couple of years and hadn’t had to put myself out there in a long time. Luckily, what they say about never forgetting how to ride a bicycle is completely true. The minute I sat down with the first guy and started conversing, I remembered how good I am at chatting people up when I want to be. The trick is to be confident, but not arrogant, and to ask them a lot of questions about themselves. Everyone loves to talk about themselves. Also, a little flattering and an encouraging smile go a long way to making people feel comfortable.

I charmed the pants off of Bachelor #1 and left knowing that he really liked me. I would have been stunned if he hadn’t called after a day or two, and of course he did, just as expected. My date with Bachelor #2 didn’t go as smoothly because he was a bit of an ass. He was rude, obnoxious, arrogant, and had a rather obvious Napoleon complex. He made all these comments about men who were bigger than him and how he was just as good as them. I don’t want someone who isn’t comfortable in their own skin, or feels the need to compete with other guys, so I told him I wasn’t interested in going out again before he had the chance to ask me.

Bachelor #3 seemed awesome at first. He was European, projected a very relaxed vibe, and seemed super smart. For most of our date, I had a wonderful time talking with him and felt very sophisticated. However, at the very end of our date, he made a comment that made me think he might be a bit of a workaholic. Even though the rest of the date had been great, the red flag made me nervous. In my last relationship, I overlooked a lot of red flags right in the beginning of the relationship that I shouldn’t have, and I don’t want to make the same mistake again. Bachelor #3 really liked me and was ready to jump into a serious relationship after only the first date. If it hadn’t been for that red flag, I would have been totally psyched about his interest, but ultimately I had to go with my gut and decline his offer.

Bachelor #4 was a great guy, but I got the sense that he was a little too… small. Regardless of how people try to sugarcoat this issue, size really does matter. Even if suitors have a lot to offer in other departments, if they’re too small, chances are it’s not going to work out. I gave it a shot with him during our date, and tried to get a sense for how I would feel in the event that we moved forward. Ultimately, I decided that it just wouldn’t feel right and had to tell him that I wasn’t interested. In declining, I was politely vague. He knows he’s small and he doesn’t need me pointing out the obvious for him. Despite his size, I so enjoyed meeting him that I almost sent him a card, rather than a simple email, but then decided against it. Mixed signals are never a good idea.

I agreed to meet with Bachelor #5 because a good friend of mine had gone on a date with him and really liked him, and thought that we would make a good match. I could totally see why my friend liked him. He was mellow, unpretentious, and a genuinely nice guy. I got the sense that he works hard but takes plenty of time off to enjoy life. A few things he said made me think that he might be too small for me, and that he has a slight complex about wishing that he was a little bigger, but overall I got a very favorable impression. The fact that he’s recommended by my friend is key, because in New York there are so many of them and it’s hard to get a true sense for who they actually are. On the spot, he asked me back for a second date and I agreed. I believe in giving nice guys a chance.

I didn’t bring this up on my date, but my last relationship was with a flashy alpha-male type, and frankly I’m so over the whole more-superior-than-thou attitude. He didn’t care about nurturing our relationship or supporting me when I needed it, and I always got the sense that he was looking around. It was like he had hordes of eager, naive little girls just waiting to fill my spot. He didn’t care about me. All he cared about was himself. But, I digress. My point is, after being taken for granted for so long in my last relationship, I’m ready for a nice guy who will love me and treat me right. It’s possible that Bachelor #5 could provide that relationship. I’m not sure, but I’ll give him until date #2 to decide.

I was excited to meet Bachelor #6 because he has a reputation for being open-minded, socially aware, smart, friendly, and not too career-obsessed. On top of that, everyone who has met him says that he treats the women in his life superbly. He’s also baby-friendly and not shy about showing it. Isn’t that refreshing? I was not disappointed; this guy was awesome! Size-wise he’s on the large side but I think it would still be a comfortable fit. I could definitely see a relationship with him evolving and I was thrilled that he called a few hours after our meeting to ask me back for a second date.

On the second date, things become a little more serious. Everyone’s still trying to make a good impression, but there’s more probing into backgrounds, values, and what each person is going to bring to the potential relationship. It’s still about having fun, but the stakes start to go up pretty quickly. People don’t want to become involved in something if it’s not meant to be, so they start showing little pieces of themselves to test the waters early on in the game. It’s always better to know sooner rather than later. However, a second date is still too early to lay everything out on the table, so there’s still a lot of mystery. This is good and bad, depending upon how soon you want to commit yourself to a new relationship, and how sure you want to be about your new partner when you decide to commit to them.

I’ve only been on one second date, with Bachelor # 1, and it was great. He was just as charming, smart, and pleasant on the second date as he was on the first. I learned more about him and it seems like he works considerably less hours than I do, which is exactly what I’m looking for. I would love to have a relationship with a man who’s not obsessed with his work. I’m so over that scene. I’m a little hesitant because I’m not sure if he’s being completely honest with me, but I’m definitely interested enough to go out on another date. He might be ready to get into a serious relationship with me, but I probably won’t know for a few days. I’m not going to call because I don’t want to pressure him; plus, I have other suitors to keep my busy. Once he’s declared his intentions, I’ll be in a position to figure out what kind of guy he really is. My fingers are crossed.

Who knew that hunting for a new law firm could be this much fun?

Pleasantly Guiltless

I’m feeling quite adult, organized, guilt-free, and generally happy today. Plus, my cold is almost gone. Yay! I have a call-back interview with a firm that’s a contender this afternoon and I’m planning to do a pilates or yoga class after that as a treat for myself.

That’s my new thing: rather than looking at this or this as a treat, I’m trying to view things that are actually good for me as treats, like all the things I’ve been meaning to do – yoga, pilates, me-time, journaling, eating healthy, exercising, yadda-yadda-yadda. You get the picture. If Lass can do two classes a night (one of them being “Butts & Guts”), then I should be able to do one class per week! I feel optimistic about it working tonight. Wish me luck.

Speaking of being healthy, I saw this and according to Popsugar’s test, I’m a failure. I must drink more water. I had started carrying my purple nalgene bottle around with me again, but this morning left it on my bookcase. Curses, foiled again!

In other news, as some of you may know many of the top NY Law Firms have been announcing some incredible salary raises, causing a scramble of salary hikes across the board. When I saw the increases, I started feeling nauseous for several reasons, mainly because it’s a ton of money, I expect they’ll work us even harder than they had been doing before, and it does make it slightly harder to walk away. Plus, what I do is not worth that much! (Except for my pro bono work which is worth that much, but not to the firm).

That all changed after I learned two things. First, my little brother, who has a successful insurance business going, is well on his way to making as much as I’m making, and will probably surpass me in a couple of years, if not sooner. I have no problems making at least as much money as my little brother for the time being. Like I said, he’s going to cruise past me shortly, which is perfect because then he can buy the beers when I have my public interest job (Note: He often already buys the beers. He’s a good brother who takes care of his sister that way).

Second, I got my paycheck today. After the government, the state, and the city had plundered my earnings, I was left with approximately 40% of my salary. They took almost 60%!!! It’s almost enough to make one become a Republican (kidding). But, seriously, I no longer have any guilt about making as much money as possible at the moment, especially if I’m allowed to keep only 40% of it.

Do you hear me United States? Do you hear me New York? I battled Dragons this year and you took 60% of what I earned!!

It makes a girl think about moving to Texas.

Oh Bollox, It’s Monday Again

I was having such a pleasant weekend. Even though I was sick! I rearranged my bedroom, cleaned the bathroom tiles, listened to music, did laundry, napped, rested, rested, and rested, watched SATC reruns on HBO, and read my book. All in all, I did an excellent job of listening to myself and was feeling much better by yesterday afternoon. Go me!

I was feeling so much better that I decided I was up for going to my book club meeting and then meeting a friend of Em’s for dinner/drinks. The book club meeting was great. We discussed “Everything is Illuminated,” over tea in a cafe on the Upper West Side that John Lennon used to frequent. More on the book later, but for now put it on your reading lists if you haven’t already read it. It’s worth it.

Then I met Em’s friend at another nearby cafe for dinner (salmon-avocado salad, a glass of white wine, and a shared chocolate dessert). Em’s friend is a very tall (6′5″), smart (also a lawyer), sweet guy of North-Indian descent. We had such a nice time that I agreed to go for a drink after dinner to a nearby bar, the Shalel Lounge. The lounge has a very cool subterranean feel and is accented with attractive Moroccan inspired decorations like hanging lamps and cushions. It was super-cute. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea to have a Jack and Ginger (or so my glands are telling me this morning), but at the time that’s what myself was telling me to do. I listened, what can I say?

So, now it’s Monday again. I feel as if I’m off to the Executioner’s block. Again.

Update: I just read Go Fug Yourself and Popsugar and feel considerably better. I’m now ready to face the day. Thank god for meaningless celebrity gossip. I don’t think I could get through the work-day without it.

Random Resting Thoughts

Today was a day of listening to my body and resting, and though I don’t want to jinx myself I think I might be feeling slightly better, although my head is still cloudy and stuffed up. I had 10 hours of sleep last night which was beyond awesome, and then spent most of the day laying in bed or resting on the couch, reading my book or watching some TV.

Among other things, I watched a dateline special on a UVA woman who was raped there at a frat party in 1984 when she was a 17-year old freshman. The rapist didn’t admit it at the time and no charges were ever filed against him. The Dean of Students asked the woman if she was sure it hadn’t been consensual. Nice. Little girls being raped at frat parties don’t make for good publicity. Twenty-one years later, the rapist wrote the woman a letter apologizing for “harming” her, and they began corresponding, eventually culminating with her bringing charges against him. That’s where I got sleepy and took a nap, but I DVR-ed it to watch the end of the program later.

On a lighter note, I also watched the SATC episode where Carrie starts dating the “new Yankee” a month after breaking up with Big. Out one night with the Yankee, Carrie sees Big and everything goes into slow motion as Big places his hand on Carrie’s shoulder and tells her that she’s never looked better. Then Big walks off into the crowd and Carrie is left with the new Yankee and her heartache. Later, when the Yankee started making out with Carrie in the street, Carrie started to cry and tore herself away from his embrace. Does this remind you of anyone you know?

Navy boy is the new Yankee!! That’s his SATC character! Does this mean there’s a SATC character for every boy? Possibly. I had a long relationship with a wonderful guy – a drummer – during the years between college and law school and he always reminded me and my friends of Aiden. He was the sweet, caring man that was a little too sweet and a little too into me. There was no challenge, and there wasn’t a lot of passion. I felt secure with him, but I didn’t love him as much as I knew that I should, as much as he loved me. Poor Aiden. Don’t worry about the Drummer, though, he’s happy.

I’m too close to the EXBF situation to make him a character. He’s still too real and too painful. Not all the time, mind you, but every now and then the sadness catches me off guard and I’m forced to remind myself that this will take some time. Take last night, for instance. I was innocently scrolling down the list of HBO movies when my eyes happened to catch site of “Munich.” I felt nothing for a second while I tried to place the title, and then it came back to me. He and I had seen Munich together. There was nothing particularly special about the movie or the night. During the three years we were on and off, we saw lots of movies together; we shared lots of things. I’ve prepared myself against memories and reminders of the significant things, but it’s the seemingly insignificant things that sometimes catch me off guard. How was I to know that a memory of that movie would have brought up a piercing wave of sadness?

Just a moment before I had been feeling perfectly fine (minus the congested, stuffy-head, sore throat, fever situation), but then one movie title shot me back into a place of panicky sadness. I even felt for a moment that I wanted to call him, but didn’t consider it. Instead, I took a deep breath, and reminded myself that everything was OK. As luck would have it, my brother Bacchus called a short time later and we had a good conversation which helped me banish away the lingering pangs of longing. Then, a little while later, my room mate came home and we hung out. All in all, it was a pleasant evening, marred only by that brief pang.

Charlotte (my favorite SATC) character, said something about how it takes half as long to get over someone as the length of the relationship. I’d heard that somewhere before, probably from the first time I watched the episode years ago. Anyway, I think it’s totally true. As EXBF and I had been together only a year this second time around (really, 11 months and a week, but that’s close enough), and as it’s been about 2 1/2 months since we broke up, I have about 3 1/2 more months before I will feel completely over him (or maybe completely over us is more accurate?). Worst case scenario: expect random processing blogging about him until about April.

I had been going back and forth in my mind about whether I should write about this “getting over” process on the blog. People say you should “never let them see you cry” and other such nonsense, and I’ve puzzled over that. Is that really what I’m supposed to do, not let anyone see that I actually had feelings for this person that I’m grappling with? And what’s wrong with crying? Crying is therapeutic. Although, it’s notable that since the two-week period right after the break-up, I’ve hardly cried at all. When I was living with him, during those last few months, I cried almost every week. I was so upset and in such a vulnerable place with him. I can’t believe I allowed myself to go through that for so long. It’s effed up.

As you can see I’m leaning towards the side of writing, rather than staying silent. It’s a part of what I’m thinking about right now, so if it feels right, I’m going to write about it. Even if he is still reading my blog (which he told me he was right after the break-up when I was crushed and pouring my heart out – can you believe that?) I’m not going to let him or anyone else make me feel bad about still feeling sad about him. This is what happens when you love someone.

But, enough of that. I’m off to bed. My body is going to start yelling at me again any second and the Nyquil bottle, my glass of warm milk & honey, and “Memoirs of a Geisha” are calling me.

Internal Chit-Chat

BCB: You knew this would happen. Ever action has a reaction.

BC: What?

BCB: You knew you were pushing yourself too hard, staying out too late, too often. You knew you weren’t taking care of yourself and that eventually it would catch up with you. We tried to warn you for both of our sakes, but you wouldn’t listen.

BC: I’ve just been really busy. Between work and interviews, meeting new people, getting to know my room mate, going out… there’s been a lot going on.

BCB: One week, we could understand. Even two, we could see how that could happen. But this has been going on since the middle of December. This is a month and a half of constantly being on the go. When was the last time you sat still with nothing to do, nowhere to be?

BC: Hello? Did you not just see me lying there on the couch for the last few hours sick as a dog?

BCB: Our point exactly. If we hadn’t stepped in, god knows where you would be right now. No doubt drinking in some bar having a grand old time.

BC: And what, pray tell, is wrong with that?

BCB: We don’t have a problem with you having a nice time. We have a problem with how we feel the next morning after you’ve stayed out all night. We have a problem with how we feel after months and months of not going to the gym. When you look in the mirror, we see what you see.

BC: Have you not heard of the concept of “self-love”?

BCB: We do love you. That’ s why we’re stepping in. We’re talking about the circles under our eyes, the strain we see in our face.

BC: But, there’s been a lot to do.

BCB: We know you feel that way, but we’re done with the excuses. You haven’t been taking care of yourself, and now we’re putting on the breaks. We told you to start going to bed at a reasonable time yet you persist in going to bed at 1 and 2 am and even staying up all night -

BC: I was working.

BCB: On Wednesday you were working, but what about the weekend? Was it really necessary to stay up until 5 am with that boy? You don’t even like him, and you felt sad afterward.

BC: I was processing. That was the walnut’s fault, not mine!

BCB: Every weekend it’s the same thing. You know you should be getting back into going to the gym, getting 8 hours of sleep, taking a yoga class or two, moving towards a state of balance. We want to feel balanced and we know you do to. We’re also sick of the pasta. You need to get yourself together and make some soup. We need some veggies, and taking more than 6 minutes to cook us dinner would do you a world of good. And, start drinking more water. We made those resolutions for your health, you know.

BC: But, I’ve been doing positive things! I’ve been meeting all these new people, spending time with my friends, having fun, trying to find a new job! Have you been paying any attention? Did you see all those interviews I went on, all the scrambling I had to do to get out of work? Of course, I’m going to have to be there late if I’m gone for a few hours each day. What do you want, for me not to interview, for me to stay at this place forever? I don’t think that’s going to get us towards a state of balance. And, I had a trial! I have been super busy and it’s not my fault. I don’t have time to cook dinner, and I’ve been enjoying going out. Did you like it better when we were crying into our Harpoon IPAs watching HBO marathons?

BCB: Do you feel healthy right now?

BC: But that’s because of you!

BCB: You’ve worn us down. We know you didn’t mean to. It’s been tough, and you’ve done a great job with so many things these past few months. Overall, we’re really proud of you. Truly, we are. But, we’re worried and we need you to take better care of yourself. If you’re not going to do it, if you can’t right now, then we’re going to do it for you.

BC: By making me sick?

BCB: By encouraging you to slow down.

BC: How exactly is making me sick taking care of us? And what’s up with the royal “we”?

BCB: What are you doing right now?

BC: Blogging.

BCB: Do you know what time it is?

BC: I like blogging. It is a creative outlet. It gives me pleasure. You’re putting so much pressure on me.

BCB: Apparently, we’re not sick enough.

BC: Oh my god, relax! Fine, I’m going to bed.

BCB: We’re putting you on lock-down tomorrow. You can leave to get a movie or to go to the drugstore if you absolutely have to. Otherwise, you’re resting. Don’t even think about going to Bed Bath & Beyond or Home Depot.

BC: But, I really need another carpet and the stupid skylight leaked all over my sheets. And, I need to get that plastic insulation stuff for the windows. It’s freezing up here; you know it is. If I don’t take care of it this weekend, I’ll have to wait until next weekend. I’ll never get everything together and nice how I want it to be.

BCB: What do we have to do for you to get this? You are doing too much. Are you hearing us? Our glands are swollen, our head is filled with mucus, and our throat is raw from coughing. Please don’t make us do anything more. Aren’t we all suffering enough?

BC: No need to be so harsh. I’m going to rest this weekend… I swear.

BCB: We know.

Thursday Thirteen #25

Thirteen Things About My Day

(Or: The Trial That Wasn’t, But Not For Naught)

1) I left the office, after working through the night prepping for today’s trial, at 6:30 am and went back to my apartment to try to get an hour and a half of sleep.

2) I arrived at my apartment at 7:00 am, looked in the mirror and thought to myself that I looked like death, washed my face, and then tried to go to sleep after setting two alarm clocks and the buzzer on my cell phone for 8:30 am.

3) The minute my head hit the pillow and I closed my eyes, every circuit in my brain that had been laying low this past week, as I devoted my attention to this case, started exploding in a cacophony of clanging thoughts. Suddenly, I was wide awake with my mind racing. I hate when that happens.

4) An hour later, I fell asleep. I woke up at 8:30 to the blaring of 3 unsynchronized beepings, feeling shaky, and dragged myself into the shower where I gave myself a 5 minute respite of stinging hot water to wake up my foggy mind and unclog my mucus-stuffed head. Apparently colds thrive on a half hour of sleep. I was out the door, fully suited, by 9:00 and back at the office by 9:20.

5) On the way from my office to the courthouse, I and the third year assisting me on the case leafed through a hornbook on evidence to remind ourselves about things like authentication and the spectrum of allowable objections, thinking to ourselves better late than never. I cursed inwardly at myself for failing to grab my Barbri evidence outline. The one time (other than the final exam) when it could have come in handy and I left it on my desk!

6) We arrived at the courtroom with binders and boxes filled with our exhibits, prepared to litigate the crap out of this trial.

7) My counterparty approached me and picked-up settlement negotiations where we had left them the day before, her low-balling and me high-balling, both of us feigning lack of control of our clients. Negotiating is kind of fun.

After some time, the Judge requested to see counsel in his chambers without either of the parties. In the eye-opening 45-minute conference that followed, the Judge narrowed the issues substantially, got us to agree to a settlement on grounds (favorable to my client), and rescheduled the second part of the scheduled trial (on property division) for a later date. Who knew that so much could happen in one little iddy-biddy conference?

9) The upside was that we made substantial progress on moving my client’s case forward. The downside was that the direct exam script that I had so painstakingly prepared will never see the inside of a courtroom. It made me ponder the wisdom of foregoing all of that sleep.

10) After some formalities before the Judge, my partner and I went back to the office to drop off our boxes and binders. I ran up to my office solely to get my book, Memoirs of Geisha, and then went straight home.

11) On the way home, I stopped off at Banana Republic and bought two cute tops. I was tired and feeling ill, but I wasn’t that ill, and this might have been the only afternoon off I’ll have for a while. I had to take advantage of it.

12) Entering my apartment, I was so happy and relieved. It’s felt like I haven’t been here hardly at all. I made some tea, steamed some plantains for a snack, and settled in to watch some of my DVR-ed shows. It was awesome.

13) Just before getting ready for bed, I had my first bubble bath in my new apartment down in my flatmate’s bathroom. It was so awesome, I can’t even tell you. I’m still reveling in it.

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

A Near Death Experience

Last winter, on a chilly night, I was walking with EXBF. We were in a rush, trying to make it to a movie, I think “Underworld 2.” I was wearing an oversized sweatshirt and jeans, and had my arms pulled inside to hug myself against the cold; the sleeves of my sweatshirt were swinging freely at my side. We stopped at an intersection with a “Don’t Walk” sign, but then seeing that there was nothing coming except for a bus that still looked very far away, we decided to make a run for it. Correction: I decided to make a run for it, and EXBF started a second behind me.

Halfway across the intersection, I tripped on the end of my bootcut jeans and, not being able to stop my fall with my hands which were pulled inside my sweatshirt, broke my fall with my left knee, elbow, and shoulder, and then fell flat on my stomach in the middle of the road. By the time I landed, EXBF was across the street, and I was alone in the middle of the road. My hands were trapped underneath my body so I couldn’t move. I looked in a panic to my right and saw the front of the bus speeding towards me. I thought I had reached the end, and all I could think of was how angry my parents were going to be that I had been so stupid. It seemed like such a ridiculous waste that I was going to die by being squashed by a bus.

Panicked, I started throwing my body toward the far side of the street, basically doing a really pathetic version of the worm. Everything slowed down, seconds expanded, and it seemed like I was all alone for several minutes trying desperately to shimmy to the other side of the street while everyone else looked on and the bus came closer and closer.

In reality, it was only a matter of seconds before EXBF ran back to me, and stood over my body with his hand held up against the bus. There was a loud sound, maybe the screeching of brakes, and then the bus came to a stop a mere 10 feet away from my squirming body. EXBF pulled me to my feet, and I mutely slipped my arms back into the sleeves of the sweatshirt. I was shaking and breathing heavily, and I couldn’t speak.

We crossed the street and I had to sit down on a curb. I started to cry. I wasn’t hurt, at least not badly. I had skinned my knee and an elbow, and had big bruises on the left side of my body, but I was really upset for a few moments. We decided to forego the movie and head home, picking up some mint chocolate chip ice cream on the way.

It was only several hours later, while wrapped up in blankets on the couch with an ice pack on my knee, talking to Bacchus on the phone, that I was able to laugh at what had happened. I was telling him the story, still feeling shaken up, and when I got to the part about doing the worm across the street – the really terrifying, serious part of the story – he couldn’t stop himself from bursting out laughing. Hearing him laugh, it pushed me over the edge, and I started laughing too. His laugh is infectious like that.

The moral: On these winter days of bitter cold, keep your arms in your sleeves, where they belong.

Immersed In Trial Prep

I’m preparing for my first trial, a pro bono contested divorce, and I don’t think I like it. While meeting with my client and my co-counsel for most of the day, I realized the obvious: that one of the reasons I don’t like this subject matter is because it all comes down to money. Not whether my client should be awarded money for the pain and suffering the defendant (her abusive husband of 11 years) caused her through repeated acts of cruel and inhuman treatment, but rather, whether the defendant has money, whether she doesn’t, and how the marital assets should be split up. Ugh! Give me a trial on persecution any day. Good lord, is there anything more depressing than dividing up people’s assets?

Partially, I’m stressed. I want my client to feel satisfied, and I’m not sure that she will be. Trial is unpredictable, defendant’s counsel keeps tossing us insultingly low settlement “offers,” and no matter what happens my client will never get enough to make up for all the suffering that she endured while living with defendant. Under the law, grounds and the division of equitable property are almost completely separate issues, meaning that while I’m trying to urge the Judge to award my client more money, I can’t rest my arguments on the theory that her husband is a no-good batterer and deserves to be punished. There is no restitution in divorce.

I’m also just grouchy because I haven’t sat still for a while with nothing to do, I’m reaching my limit of going, going, and going, and due to last weekend’s activities I’m sick. I’m all congested and was feeling lightheaded for most of the day because of a combination of congestion and medication. Yuck. I also look suspiciously like I have consumption, what with the dark circles, pallid skin, and chapped lips. I’m sure the Judge will love me.

Rather than complain about it (more than I already have), I’m trying to look forward to Thursday evening, and especially this weekend. Barring something unexpected, the trial should start and end on Thursday, leaving me free to crash into my bed sometime around 8 pm. This weekend, I’m not going to plan anything with anyone (except for with my two little clients, one of whom will be back from the hospital and is doing much better, thank god) and I’m going to make going to the gym, sleeping, getting well, and resting my top priorities. Ok, maybe just getting well and relaxing. I don’t want to be too ambitious.

The next two days are going to go fast – too fast because I’m already stressed about tomorrow night – but by the end of the week things will be looking up. I’ve been stressed about this case and this trial for months, and it will be a tremendous weight lifted off of me to have it completed. For my client and me both.

And then, finally, I will be mostly free to look for a new job. I’m going to have to get out quick because my other case has been chomping at the bit in my absence, and I know they’re going to pounce on me the moment this trial is over. Friday could be dicey. But, fear not! I’ve already set up three interviews for next week and a date (none of that will be occurring, I assure you).

Progress continues, hoof by hoof.

Walnut Wasteland

It’s almost 2 1/2 months since EXBF and I broke up, and for the most part I think I’ve handled things smashingly well (yes, I just recently watched Bridget Jones’ Diary, one of Prue’s favorites, and now one of mine).

I loved him and for much of the time that we spent together, I was sure that we were going to spend our future together. When it ended, I could have crumpled into a little ball, and for the two-week period after the break-up, and for most of the next two weeks, that’s about all I felt like doing. But, I didn’t. Instead, I regrouped, dug down, and rediscovered a strength within myself that I hadn’t felt in a long time. I crushed down all of the sadness, longing, and love for him, all of the good memories and thoughts of him, emotions that had been radiating out of me and overwhelming me, into a tiny ball the size of a walnut and lodged it just under my ribcage on the right side of my body, just opposite my heart.

I filled up the empty space left behind in the wake of the sadness and love with hard, impenetrable steel. Before I had been soft and permeable, wounded and easily cu; many times by him. But, to protect myself I encased my body, my heart, and my mind in armor, and I encased the walnut to, in order to keep it tightly compressed and held in place.

For the most part my strategy worked. Every now and then during the past month, I’ve had unwelcome thoughts of him, reminders that have caused the walnut to pulse with pain. Because I had it encased in steel, I was able to keep the flare-ups in check. I didn’t allow myself to be overwhelmed by pain. I didn’t allow him to hurt me any more.

I’ve only cried a few times since exiling my emotions to the walnut. Two of those times happened with Navy Boy, a 30-year old boy who once upon a time went on a handful of dates with me, and then became a friend of sorts. He’s been a friend to me these past couple of months, he’s helped me set up my internet connection, talked break-up stories with me, and understood when I said that I was not yet in a place to think about dating anyone anytime soon.

The first time I cried in front of him was a few weeks ago. We were in bed and I was naked, which tends to happen when I make out with boys who know how to kiss me well. I wasn’t thinking that it was strange to be with someone other than him. Instead, I was focusing on Navy Boy’s body, admiring his muscular arms and pecs, marveling at his smooth hairless skin. He laughed at our uneven-ness; his shirt was off but his bottom half was fully clothed. I told him that we weren’t going to have sex, and he said very reassuringly, immediately, “I know,” so I told him that as long as that was clear he could remove his top layer.

We were flirting. I was enjoying myself. His body felt nice pressed against mine, and his kisses were good – a nice mix of aggression and tenderness. It caught me completely by surprise when I began to cry.

I didn’t cry hard. There was no sobbing. My eyes just started leaking silently, little streams making there way down my temples and pooling in my hair. I told him softly to stop, and I don’t think he realized what was happening until he kissed my cheek and tasted the salty dampness. I was surprised and a little embarrassed, not because I was crying over EXBF, but because I didn’t want Navy Boy to think that I was the kind of girl that cried during make-out sessions. My god! The mortification. He was understanding and kind, and told me it was OK. He said that I probably hadn’t been with many people since EXBF, and he was right. He was the first on this little rebound adventure. After pulling myself together, we began making out again, and that night I had a nice little orgasm.

I thought the crying was a one-time thing, but two nights ago it happened again. The scene was very similar. Navy Boy and I were making out and it felt good. He was kissing me in ways that I liked being kissed, my body was keyed up, and I was enjoying myself. Suddenly, though, it became too much and I started tearing up again, this time saying, “Oh my god, I didn’t think this would happen again.” He kissed my tears, and again told me that it was OK, but I knew that it wasn’t.

The kissing, the intimacy, the being close to another man that’s not him has caused a crack in the walnut, and somehow my emotions have started leaking out. For most of this month, when I’ve thought of him I’ve thought about him with nice, healthy anger. Not the kind of destructive, white-hot anger that would make me think I was not getting over him the way I should, but the kind of solid, justified anger that come with knowing that someone you loved has treated you wrongly. He hurt me so many times, and when I told him that he was hurting me, instead of stopping, he continued to do it. That makes me angry. Passing his building or places that remind me of him, I’ve found myself instinctively mouthing, “Fucking asshole,” and feeling vindicated and empowered.

That was before Navy Boy’s kisses cracked the walnut and reminded me that I still have love for EXBF, that when I say “I hate him,” I don’t actually mean it, but wish that I did. It makes sense, because if I had been able to eliminate my love for him in the span of 2 1/2 months, then that would have shown that the depth of my love for him was wanting from the beginning. That whatever I had lost, it wasn’t all that much. But, the fact is that I actually genuinely loved EXBF, and even if I haven’t lost much, he has.

The two crying spells, neither of which lasted for more than a minute (just so the record is clear), were an expression of the feelings of sadness I still have over losing the things about EXBF that were truly good. They loosened up my emotions and made me feel a little less like I have to keep those feelings of love and pain imprisoned. They let them come out, and made me realize it’s OK that I still have them. I loved him, and even though he did not act in a way worthy of my love, it’s going to take a long time to get him completely out of my system. I’ve given myself permission to cry again, although hopefully not in the presence of any more boys. At least not while naked. At least not until I feel like it.

At least not until I think it will hurt a little bit less.

Sleep Deficit Continues

The end of the weekend has come, so suddenly, and due to a series of events, only part of for which I’m responsible, I find myself almost as tired tonight as I was on Friday when I left work. One of my clients, the 17 year old girl, had a crisis late Friday night and was admitted to the hospital. She’s been under a great deal of emotional and psychological stress, and it finally overwhelmed her. I was up until 4 am monitoring the situation. She is a minor, and we had been afraid that the hospital might refuse to admit her, but ultimately she was admitted without incident.

The next day, I spent most of the day visiting with my client in the hospital and then hanging out with her sister. Both girls are now doing ok, and I cannot express how grateful I am for that. I worry about them so much, but they’re tough, and I’m confident they can get through this. I’m so pissed that it’s taking so long to hear the results of their asylum application. Waiting is putting a tremendous strain on them. It’s hard not to be depressed and overwhelmed by feelings of hopelessness when they can’t yet imagine a future free of the past that they have not yet fully escaped psychologically or legally. But, they are fighters and they continue to humble me with their resilience and strength.

Around 7 pm on Saturday night, after leaving my clients, I went by Starbuck’s and grabbed a medium coffee (I don’t do Italian names for coffee sizes), and then went home to get ready to go out. I probably should have stayed in, but it was my friend’s birthday party and I was looking forward to seeing a few friends that I hadn’t seen for a while. I finished my coffee – my dinner that day – between blowdrying my hair and putting on my make-up while listening to “Buttons” on repeat (Mom, the Bose speaker is awesome), and was out the door headed downtown to the Heartland Brewery in Union Square by 8:00 pm. Not bad, if I do say so myself. By the way, if you make it to the brewery, I recommend the Red Rooster Ale. It’s the closest thing they have to an Amber ale and it’s quite tasty.

Speaking of Amber ales, after the brewery we went to a karaoke bar on Park and 19th, Tracy J’s. For some reason, all of my friends have been all about karaoking lately. Twice in one week is a little much, I gotta say; particularly when the place has a bad sound system, and a DJ more interested in throwing people out of the bar than playing requests. We didn’t do a lot of singing, but we did have front row seats to an entertaining bar brawl between a skinny rich girl with perfectly flat-ironed hair, the psycho DJ, and an enormous bouncer who oddly enough took the skinny girl’s side over the DJ even though the skinny girl had knocked the DJ in her face. If we could have heard the screaming a bit more clearly, it would have been as good as reality TV.

But, I was speaking about beer. At Tracy J’s, the following exchange took place between me and the bartender:

Me: “Do you have any amber ales?”
Bartender: “What do you mean by Amber?”
Me: “An AMBER (enunciated slowly and loudly) ALE or something like it.”
Bartender: “I don’t know what you mean by Amber. Do you mean Amber in color?”

I was speechless for a moment, but rather than educating her, I simply ordered a Bass. What kind of bartender is unfamiliar with Amber Ales? Clearly, that bartender needs to get herself over to Michigan asap and grab her some Bell’s. Then she’ll understand the beauty of an Amber Ale.

After the barfight, around 2am, Navy Boy and I (the backstory on that will be forthcoming at a later date) left the bar and headed back to my place. I should have sent him on his way, but instead I invited him in and we stayed up until 5 am!! Five AM! All my fault! I was bad, bad, bad and forfeited my much needed sleep. Again. It would have worked out fine if I could have slept until 1 in the afternoon, but unfortunately I haven’t yet gotten around to covering my windows and skylight with blackout blinds. Can you imagine how awful I felt when I woke up at 8:30 am to rays of sunlight drilling into my eyesockets, straight into the center of my head? Mental note: Do not stay up until 5 am again any time soon.

I would have gotten the blinds today, but I was too wrecked from the weekend to do much more than drag my butt to the hospital to visit my client, and catch-up on calls with my friends – one of the perks to being completely hungover and basically useless is that there is suddenly lots of time for phone calls. Among others, I got to have a long overdue, much-needed conversation with Wood. She is an amazing friend, and she has the distinction of being one of the few people in my life who is always there for me, no matter what. She has a two-year old, yet she always makes time for me. How phenomenal is that?

The other thing of note that I managed to accomplish today was making breakfast. I attempted to make cottage cheese pancakes like my friend Simone’s mom used to make for me and Simone whenever I would sleep over their house in middle school. I must have done something wrong because whereas her’s were fluffy and delicious, mine came out runny and doughy in the middle. I still ate them (doused in maple syrup). I suspect that my ratio of batter to cottage cheese is off, and that I probably erred on the side of using too much cottage cheese. If any of you have a good recipe for cottage cheese pancakes, please let me know.

I’m a little stressed about the upcoming week, which is no surprise as I often feel that way on Sunday night. This week, I have a trial in my contested divorce case, more law firm interviews, and too much work to do in the time remaining. Until Thursday, it’s going to be a bit tough, but Thursday night I will celebrate. Perhaps by foregoing festivities, going to they gym, and having a good night’s sleep for once. In other words, pretending for an evening that I have balance in my life.

Probably not, but a girl can hope.