"All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware."
My second day coming through the front door of the new office, post-merger.
No longer the managing partner of anything, but rather the grumpy old partner who wanders in and out, disappearing for weeks at a time to the annoyance of everyone else, it seems.
And grumpier than usual today as I transition to a liquid diet ahead of my visit with Dr. Finlaw so he can peer his way up and down my alimentary tract. I don't find the experience itself so disagreeable (thanks, anesthesia!), but the days of dietary restrictions take away one of my few joys when P and I are apart. At least I'm down to 180 pounds, my lightest weight in maybe a decade. I've promised myself a Whataburger combo as a reward for being such a good patient this week, so I reckon I'll enjoy the svelte me while I can.
Trapped in the bane of life in the 21st century, finding myself too busy for much except work. I was here until nearly nine last night, and would do the same tonight but for the colon blow that comes the night before the big procedure. A betting man would place a couple blue chips on the likelihood that I'll be dictating on the can. Such is the glamorous life of a trial lawyer.
Tomorrow I was supposed to step right into conference calls as soon as the anesthesia wears off, but it appears Steph has cleared my calendar for the pile of dictating and filing I need to handle instead. And I still haven't reserved a rental car in Dallas, where weather permitting I'll land in the Columbia midday Saturday. In between I'll drive to Perry (eating my Whataburger) to survey progress on the barn and--who knows?--maybe hit a golf ball around quitting time.
I'll be in Dallas until Tuesday afternoon, then flying commercial back here for eight more days of work before heading back to Corning and staying as long as I can stiff-arm in-person stuff in Florida. At some point I'll need to go back to Texas to pick up the plane and see the folks, probably in early July. I may swing through here on the way back (you have to love the flexibility of flying oneself) then back up to the Finger Lakes for another month or so.
Or at least that's the plan, such as it is. A bad diagnosis tomorrow or Dad taking a turn for the worse could upend all of that.
Time to crank out a couple documents on the dictaphone before starting a mediation at nine. And so it goes.
Comments