"You should never share your problems with others because 80 percent of people don't care about them anyway, and the other 20 percent are kind of glad that you've got them in the first place."
-Ed Foreman
So, it's been brought to my attention that this blog has turned into a pity party with one guest of honor, a bummer. Taking this observation to heart, today will be more positive.
It's lovely out here at 5:45 in the morning.
A little too warm to suit me for this time of year, but hey! I'm not complaining. Nope, not at all.
The temperature was pleasant enough while I was out here reading at three a.m. Still a few cool evenings left before the hot, wet blanket of summer in Florida envelops us.
And I can't really complain about the meteoric performance of the Braves so far this year. Have you ever noticed that people use the word "meteoric" always to describe climbing fortunes, and yet no one has ever seen a meteor go any direction but down? The word amply and accurately describes the Bravos so far this year.
But they're 17-20 so far this season, six-and-a-half games behind the Mets. They were 19-23 on this date last year, and ended up winning the World Series. Where there's life there's hope. Only 123 games to go. And they beat the surprisingly good Brewers last night.
I'm still full from a very early supper yesterday with my friend Tom. He wanted to go to Hunt's Oyster Bar, and the line there forms well before five this time of year. We arrived at 3:30, after a witness no-showed for a deposition I was scheduled to take.
Tom ordered generously, but then again he was taking a bunch of his food home afterward. He ordered two dozen raw; I ordered a dozen. He ordered two dozen fried oysters and a dozen fried shrimp; I ordered a dozen fried oysters and stole one of his shrimp. He ordered three fried grouper filets; I took one. Still, it was a lot of food, with not a vegetable or even a french fry to be seen on the table, washed down with a pitcher of Yuengling. My head still hurts a little, and my middle is a little distended.
At the next table was a gaggle of aging women who kept loading the juke box and singing along with country songs that were a part of my Air Force days. They dropped a couple quarters and the place filled with Garth Brooks proclaiming "I've Got Friends in Low Places", to which they all sang along with gusto and laughter. It was about that time when I realized those old women were the same age as me, and that song was apparently part of a shared, long vanished youth. Where did the time go?
I returned to the office and worked late-ish again. So did my paralegal, which perplexed me so about six I walked out to see what had her mesmerized on her computer screen. She sat toiling with an appendix that needs to be filed with an appellate brief today, and peering over her shoulder I realized it was being assembled incorrectly. Apparently my instructions weren't clear. I suggested she head on home and take another run at it tomorrow, as in today.
My law partner reminded me yesterday of the benefits of having other lawyers to share the load. We have a big call in a couple hours to go over a construction contract on a huge project, and the foreign clients have been driving me nuts. I also really hate drafting contracts. When my schedule started to swallow me over the last few days, he stepped in to handle edits, stiff-arm the needy clients, and deal with opposing counsel, and things are now back on track. I'm grateful for the help.
Further on that front, I am on the cusp of filling Connor's office here, which if and when it happens will take a load off of me once she's trained up and can shoulder much of the in-person burden that has me running ragged back and forth to Panama City. It will be nice not to have that issue to complain about in a few weeks.
Today I have that call to discuss the construction contract, a hearing on a motion I'm asking the court to deny, a site visit to the paper mill as part of our investigation of a personal injury claim we're defending, a meeting with a client who needs a little reality check regarding a very difficult case Connor was handling before he left, and two conference calls in the afternoon. The Military Affairs Committee is hosting an event at the Yacht Club tonight, and I'm debating whether to go glad hand there, drive to Wyldswood for the night, or come back here and crawl in bed with a book. It's day ten without P, and I still don't quite know what to do with myself.
But it's all good, and getting better. Right?
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