Because my workday begins...

Because my workday begins early, it begins, in winter, in the huge, tense blackness of the world. I slip out of bed before the sun slips into the sky and the house is hard cold so I move purposely in silence. I lack the confidence to move quickly, I fear the skate board that could be waiting in the middle of the hall. I dress in the dark and shuffle to the coffee pot. The sleepy dog walks with me a few strides then he disappears. The coffee maker hisses then gurgles. I listen intently, as though it is a language the coffee grounds are speaking. There are no stars, nor a moon. I can see a little from the street lamps and finally I turn on the light that sits on the side of my desk. I lean on the winged back of my green chair by the amber light and my purple desk. Now the dog comes back, his happy feet finding a new bed by my side. I sit and read, think, write, stare by the light of my desk.
This is the beginning of every day.

In Recovery and Getting Better...

Apparently one can suffer from a massive cold and yet live to tell the tale. I was feverish and snot filled, but thanks to God, NyQuil and triple layered lotion filled Kleenex I am slowly on the mend. My brain is unstuffing.

I spent the weekend in the Texas hill country. I spent the weekend drunk and freezing like a bunch of hobos. It was a glorious country Thanksgiving compete with a small town hayride past the county court house decked out in Christmas lights. all rides end at the bar, the one place in town where a family can get warm. Meed and cider on tap for all the freezing hobos.

And now I'm back in the city and, as stated, I have started my new job. Its the kind of thing I really wanted for now. Something where I can come to work and leave and the whole thing is relatively stress free. That's not say that I don't think it will all be easy, I just know that it stuff that I can do, or learn to do and the people I am working with really want to work with me and not against me, which is refreshingly nice. Did I mention that I get to wear jeans on Fridays? And that there is an option for a "compressed work schedule"? Yes my friends, life is an option at this new place of business.

It Could Be Worse

It could be worse. Dressed in your suite ready for an interview, your daughter kicks a rotten pumpkin that was sitting on the carpeted floor of her room and hidden under a pile of all those clothes you told her to pick up last week. The pumpkin shell is no longer bright orange, but it still bleeds orange pumpkin juice so you had the child a trash bag and grab the carpet cleaner. You head onto the freeway, which is packed with Huns and Visigoths, and your mere presence infuriates them. They shriek at you and make vile gestures. Meanwhile, you're listening to the teeth-grinders on the radio blaming the president's troubles on the Congress.

Downtown, you run into a covey of teenagers, the girls with black lipstick and chopped black hair and black clothes, the boys with graffiti tattoos and their belts down around their femurs, and they look at you with such extravagant loathing, you want to tell them, "I am not worthy of so much contempt. Please, I am only a pedestrian like yourselves, save some of that for Hitler and Stalin."

You go into the interview. The joint is hoity-toity and your greeted by an attitudinous receptionist with a fake accent who leads you into a room where you tell your potential employer that you love working in offices and filing documents and paying attention to mind numbing details and as these words exact your mouth you don't recognize the person who is saying them but you say them anyway because you need a steady paycheck. Well, it could be worse.

It would be worse if you didn't have a good education and marketable skills and youth. Being young is often over rated and it couldn't be more true when it comes to employment. Employers want young workers because they are cheap and not making plains for retirement. It could be worse.

Cheap doesn't mean that you don't make a living wage, which is a rare these days. So you may not be rich, but you have your own apartment which is perfect because everyone needs to have some space between themselves and the rest of the world. A place where you can watch liberal news without the rest of your red state screaming down your door and you can sing off tune and not hear, "Would you mind?"

There is almost nothing so good for you as singing old songs, whether you sing praise to the Lord God or sing about the gin-soaked barroom queen in Memphis and your friends Long Tall Sally and Material Girl and that Long Haired Redneck. You've got trouble in mind and the water tastes like turpentine but you know you belong to the land and it's a grand old flag and the sunny side of the street is where you should direct your feet. Ben Hecht said, "Old songs are more than tunes. They are little houses in which our hearts once lived."

Winter is coming, which simplifies everything and shows you that the essentials of life are warmth, food, shelter, plumbing. The rest is decorative. The life that your friends write about in the Christmas letter, the life of steady accomplishment and upward movement on life's graph, is mostly fiction. The reality is that we are all in over our heads. I am and you are. God help us. And so far He has. It could be worse.

Whatever bonehead things we've done, we have not yet put our tongue on the flag pole and let it freeze there, and this is a fact not to be overlooked. There flag poles around, and in freezing weather they become lethal. You walk past them and they exert a powerful force on your body, particularly on your tongue. Imagine the misery of standing, tongue frozen to the iron, waiting for the firemen to come and pry you loose. In my darker hours, ever since I was 6 and watched The Christmas Story, I have imagined that the flag pole would be my fate, but so far I have avoided it, and you too, my friend. Together, once again we hope to come through the cold season with our tongues intact, and if we do, then winter has no grip on us. It could be worse.

When Life Throws Dung Balls

Sometimes life throws dung balls at you, but you just have to roll with it.

I was laid off yesterday. I can't say I'm terribly surprised.

Its an unknown path full of uncertainly.


Still, I can't help but be glad to see the back of the place.

I'm looking forward to having time. Time for prayer and reflection. Time to spend with Alex. Just time.

Maybe I'm naive, but I honestly think I will come out on top. I learned a lot from my time on the job, but it was never a place I wanted to spend my whole life.

Photo Credits: All photographs taken at Walt Disney World in 2010. First five photos taken by Katy. Final photo taken by Tim and used by permission. -Thanks Tim!

That's a Biscuit Eatn' Baby

Splash Mountain
Magic Kingdom, Walt Disney World
by Katy, 2009

A few days ago Iota over at Iota Quota wrote this post about shorthand phrases. Those regional sayings that are unique to different parts of the country... and different parts of the world. Its one of those things that I have always been fascinated by.

I was reminded of those regional colloquialism again yesterday when I walked by a paralegal's office and heard her tell the person on the other end of her phone... "I haven't seen hide-nor-hair of it since." My first thought was, who talks like that? Then I remembered that I'm in Texas and that, honestly, I know a lot of people who talk like that. It just doesn't jump out at me as much when I hear that kind of thing in a barbecue joint, but it does stick out like a sore thumb when said inside the walls of an international law firm. Is that a colloquialism? Stick out like a sore thumb. Do people say that outside of the American south? What about the phrase my sister's secretary used - that's a biscuit eatn' baby - to describe a particularly plump newborn? Some how I don't see folks in Minnesota employing that phrase.

Words are these amazing things that draw us together even as we sit in different parts of the world, and yet even when we are speaking the same language we all have a unique voice, our own style and way of expression. There is something in that that is just indescribably cool. On that note, I would like to add that the word colloquialism is simply fun to say.

This is Not a Post

It was fun seeing so many comments on my blog this morning. For that I say thank you to all who wondered over from Jo's blog and commented and all of you who wondered over and didn't say anything. And thank you Jo for the wonder complements! And now I feel like I should write something. Really I should update my blog.

But I slept through my alarm this morning (or I have no memory of turning it off).

I got to my regular stop in time to catch the last morning bus downtown, only to find I had left my wallet at home.

I arrived at work 40 minutes late to find that all of my attorneys arrived early for once.

I worked through lunch.

I left the office at 8:30pm.

I picked my daughter up from my parent's house at 9:00pm.

I completed an application for a new job at midnight.

My brain is done.

I'm off to bed.

Hands Down...

... the US Copyright Office has to be the worst governmental agency I deal with regular basis. As far as I can tell they don't really do much other than issue copyright certificates and yet their processing time for applications is insanely long (up to two years) and they don't even have a 1-800 number to call. I have spent many an afternoon just hitting redial after getting busy signals... (so 1980s) only to speak with a clearly annoyed government employee who seems to be under the impression that my brain cell count is extremely low.

Now, I do realize that this is because they deal with a lot of odd balls. I have seen this in limited numbers in the trademark field, but because getting a copyright requires little effort the problem seems magnified. If you ever have a moment to peruse the FAQ section on the US Copyright Office website, you will get a hint of what I'm talking about. A lot of people are apparently trying to copyright diaries they found in their grandmother's attic, (WTF?) and are ultra worried about their personal information becoming public (do I see a mob of aluminum foil hats in the distance?)

But this has to be the best. I don't know if it was just added, or if I had just always skipped past it, but I saw if for the first time yesterday:


How do I protect my sighting of Elvis? (Follow the link. I did not make this up.)

Copyright law does not protect sightings. However, copyright law will protect your photo (or other depiction) of your sighting of Elvis. . . No one can lawfully use your photo of your sighting, although someone else may file his own photo of his sighting. Copyright law protects the original photograph, not the subject of the photograph. [emphasis added]

Oh, and the tip of the month: Can I get a star named after me and claim copyright to it? The answer is, sadly, NO!

Yesterday I stayed at work late to catch up. I spent an hour in my annual review meeting. One of the lawyers I used to work for, (used to because she was fired a few months ago), had scored my performance at all ones. I'm the first to admit that I suck at my job. They have put me in charge of all the details and I suck at details. Still, everyone else (me included) thought I was a solid 3. That's a good B average. I'm not sure why, but I sobbed. I sobbed to the head of HR. I don't sob. I certainly don't sob at work. And I would never want to sob in front of the head of HR. But I did. I did and that caused me to stay at work until it was dark outside.

As I walked to the bus stop, downtown in the dark, I prayed that I wouldn't get mugged. Not long after I arrived I was greeted by a homeless man with his bed roll in tow. I prayed he wouldn't ask me for money. He didn't. He just mumbled to himself. And shielded his eyes from the non-existent bright light. And in between the mumbling and the eye shielding he shouted unintelligible curses at something only known to him. When the bus arrived the man did not get on. He simply turned and walked away.

Once I had been deposited at the church, I rushed inside. I had promised I would run graphics for the Traveler's Christmas Eve service. The turn out was nice. I was out to lunch. One of the cameras was broken and the man running the switcher made a few mistakes. Still, the service was beautiful. You don't need graphics and cameras to sing Silent Night A Capella by the light of a few hundred candles.

And that's it isn't it? Everything can be total crap, but somewhere in it all there is Silent Night and candles.

Misery Demands Company

Among the people I work with is one woman who really wants you to know how busy she is. So busy that as early as 9:00 in the morning she will stroll into my office and talk about how full her life is and how many demands there are on her time. Despite, or maybe, because of working in an extremely busy law office, I have never come across a fellow worker who complains about their life in this way before. Although I have, of course, met them elsewhere. But it's not whining I smell, it's power. This woman with her gushing "Gosh, did I tell you just how busy I am?" manner apparently thinks she has more meaning in her life because she is a "busy, busy, busy" women while I merely come off as simple, simple simpleton. When she happens into my office and addresses me with her perpetual stream of complaints, I generally just sit and say nothing. Oh, sure I have offered advise of how should could organize herself differently, delegate certain tasks to others in able to alleviate some of her suffering, but I'm always wrong. In her virtual reality power game, I am less important than her, less intelligent and unlikely to understand the true heart of any and all modes of panic she seems to find herself in. I have a similar status to a child as I sit at my desk while she rattles on, probably. I am definitely expected to keep quiet and not interrupt, unless I am affirming that she is, in fact, irrefutably busy. On a certain level I feel sorry for her. It must be really crap to live in a perpetual state of discontent, and such a constant need for power and attention. But an air of understanding in this situation is hard to maintain. If she is so wonderfully busy why is she talking to me? Most people in my office have so much to do, they don't have time to stand around and chat. An annoying git if there ever was one.

White Friday

Want to hear something really cool? Its cold in Houston. Freezing. It is suppose to "snow" this afternoon. It has "snowed" here before. White hard stuff that sicks to car bumpers and fences. Enough to scrap together a golf ball sized snowball.

Its not snowing yet. It's just raining. Or it was until I got into the office. Here, on the 34th floor its snowing. Its just melting into rain as it falls. We are all having fun standing in the empty lawyer offices , just watching the snowflakes fall... I wonder what I will bill the last 10 minutes to? Firm Business sounds about right. My time entry will read: "Received and reviewed snowflakes in connection with joyous wonder."

I took the day off yesterday. I could be cute and say that it was my way of protesting the fact that Columbus has a holiday, but really I was just tired of work and the people at work.

Its not uncommon for people to go in your office when you are out. People need files you have stashed in your office. Clients have questions and they need answered whether you are there or not. But why would someone reorganize another person's desk?

I'm sorry, I know that my desk was messy. I have two staple removers is because I have trouble finding them. Pens tend to get scattered around and not kept in their proper place. Mail full of notices from foreign associates that I need to respond to at some point is filed in a pile on the right hand side of my desk while files I need to look at in a weeks time are piled on the left. Is it a coherent, organized system? Of course not, but its mine and it works.

I was scared when I first walked in. I was trying to think of something I may have lost. Something that someone had come looking for and failed to find. I was expecting to open my e-mail and find a "we need to talk" message about the state of my office and how I had lost X document. But when I read my e-mail I found nothing out of the ordinary. Its 10:00 and still, no one has come by to claim responsibility.

The "what did I do?" panic has gone and now I just feel violated. I want to throw my pens out on my desk and poor the rubber bands out on the floor. I want to re-mess up my files and mail. But also, I'm just puzzled. Who did this? Who has this kind of time? What on earth were they looking for? What do they think they accomplished?

UPDATE: I was told that "a little fairy" did a good deed while I was gone and tidied up my mess.

My response: "Please tell the 'little fairy' to never touch my stuff again." A little territorial? Maybe. Over the top? Uncalled for? I don't care. I would rather a fairy did me the favor of respecting my space.

You're Gonna Make it After All...

See this lovely picture of Mary Tyler Moore concurring the big city and triumphantly tossing her hat into the air in celebration of her success? I think this is the mental picture I had in my head when I first got my job working for a big law firm in a really tall building downtown. Young, single girl out taking on the world one day at a time.

Things have deteriorated since then.

Today I got a reminder that I have a doctor's appointment coming up. My first thought? "YES! Half day off of work!" What does that say about the level of enthusiasm I have for my job? How crap does a place have to be for a person to say, "I would rather be siting in the Cancer Center, waiting to have my blood drawn", and actually mean it?

It is always wonderful...

... when a group of highly educated and successful people look up to see a load of crap rolling their way. You can smell the adrenaline in the air as people try to run like a pack of B sci-fi movie victims. Its time to cover your ass and run like hell.

Who said Patent Prosecution is boring?

(It is of course. If I tried to explain what all the fuss is about your eyes would glaze over and your mind would start to feel numb. Mine does anyway.)

Picture of Depression Era Billboard

My father lost his job yesterday. He worked for a small family owned business and not being one of the family members, he was the first salesman to be let go. This isn't the first time my father has been out of a job. His employment situation was always precarious during my childhood. His achievements in the business world convinced my sisters and I that being your own boss is the worst possible thing that could happen to a person.

Still, my father has always landed on his feet. (Even when it took bankruptcy to get him there). Given what he has been through in the past he is taking the whole thing in stride. Confident that a new opportunity is just around the corner.

I can't help by worry for him though. He as great friends who have always bailed him out. Gave him capital, offered their services for free, bought his business for more than it was worth, and even found him a job. Now what? When most of his friends are retired what jobs to they have to offer? The few that are still working own their own businesses that are in the process of shedding extra workers. I'm afraid he might have to go it alone this time. There is not a lot of demand out there for 65 year olds with no computer skills.

I will never work a 60 hour week.
I will never work a 60 hour week.

I will never work a 60 hour week.

Well, last week, I did.

The week before that I came pretty close. 58 hours.

My job will never come before my child.

My job will never come before my child.

My job will never come before my child.

Last Thursday my daughter left me this voicemail:

"Mom, this is Alex. I love you. I can you pick me up today? I miss you and I want to spend the night at home."