There is no crying in baseball.

But there IS crying in the practice of law.

I suppose the party is over, here at The Firm. I'm finishing my third month, and I wept my first tear at work today. One of my bosses called me to task (rightfully, I should add) for not being up-to-date on a case I'm working on and that has a Friday filing deadline. I'm not up-to-date because I'm spending all my time fixing work that was not done and/or done poorly by a subordinate who is on vacation. There is no one here I can depend upon to pick up the slack created by my doing the subordinate's work, so I'm freaking out over not doing my work as well.

Anyway, the kicker today, what really sent me over the edge, was missing yet another social gathering with the promise of free food and socializing. I missed a fabulous lunch with visiting lawyers from the Left Coast office a few weeks ago because of some deadline, and tonight was a farewell dinner for a departing office manager. I expected to return to the office afterward, but I was kinda hoping for some free eats. Instead, I was stuck on a conference call for 2 hours.

Still, I was OK until I retrieved a voicemail from my boss, with a message he left about 45 minutes earlier, telling me that they just ordered and it's not too late to stop by. I thought, "No. It's too late. I can't show up now. I'm stuck doing the heavy lifting while my subordinates drink and eat good wine and food and take vacations and get full nights' sleep. Why am I doing this ty myself?"

So now I'm hungry and weepy and pathetic, and if I leave the office now to get food, I may run into my boss and/or co-workers, who should finish the fabulous meal in a little bit, while looking hungry and weepy and pathetic. Also, my boss is likely to stop by after the dinner and promise a "make up" meal, which is likely to get me teary again. And I don't want to look hungry, weepy or pathetic before The Man.

I don't remember how soon after I started working at The Old Firm that I was reduced to tears. There never was a party there, so there was no point at which the party ended. The Outfit of Spite incident occurred around the end of week four, and I know I worked behind closed doors for several hours, but I don't remember if I cried. (I probably just ruminated.)

Oh. Who. Cares. The Old Firm sucked and I'm hungry. Time to hold my head up high, march across the street, and grab me a Happy Meal and a Coke.

Could completeness still appeal . . .

to one who thinks what he should feel?

So, I just learned that my brief sister-in-law, let's call her "Chartreuse", tried to kill herself last week by downing a bottle of pills and a bottle of liquor. She was found, unconscious, by her mother and has been in a coma in ICU ever since.

I'm trying to care, but not doing a good job at it. I know I should feel something. But I don't.

Chartreuse made Thing 2 cry, when she made last-minute, tell-tale changes to the wedding plans that caused Young Miss 2, who was all of 5 years old, not to be flower girl, after having been promised the role a year or more earlier. Then, Chartreuse broke Dear, dear BIL's heart.

I helped DBIL prepare his divorce papers just before I went on maternity leave with Thing 3. They had been married about a month.

The Hubbins reported to me that they're concerned Chartreuse may have suffered brain damage, based on how long she was "out" before help arrived. I asked whether they had a "before" EEG for comparison.

Man, I'm going to hell.

Topics I've Been Wanting to Blog About

I usually think about these on the drive to work, when I'm least able to write. Here are some things I may be writing about in the near future:

1) Thing 2's school year-end meltdowns. Poor thing has been sooo well behaved this year but with only 2 weeks left, she's begun to decomp. Very funny things result

2) The 80s British Socialist/Communist musician belief that pop music could foment a workers' revolution was utter crap. But the songs are timeless and toe-tappin', even if the propaganda-lace lyrics are, well, silly. ("Governments crack and systems fall, 'cos unity is powerful . . ." Riiiiight.)

3) Sitting alone in one's office at midnight, whilst the more junior folks, whose work you are fixing for the nth time, are home and snug, tends to turn one into the evil bitchy more senior lawyer of which cautionary tales are written. I'm the one sitting here at midnight, but I'm not yet sure how the story ends.

4) The three faces of Fran -- each of my three daughters exhibit parts of my personality. Is it nature or nurture. Would an adopted child think it is fun to antagonize grammar school teachers the way Thing 2 does? Or brood nearly as deeply or frequently as Thing 1?

There are so many more topics, but so few hours to bill

I Love Me Some BIGLAW

Fran (from remote location): Dear Sr. Part Time Of Counsel Guy Who Is Connected to Significant Client and Gets Paid for Doing Nothing, Per request of Your Boss, who insists that you dance for your dinner now and again, please find Form X on computer system and look in the file to fill it out.

Sr. Pt Time Guy (6 hours later): OK, Can you get me the forms?

Sr. Pt Time Guy (2 minutes later): I've asked Secretary to get me the forms. Can you give me the information to fill in the blanks?

The amount of time I spent cursing this tool off, unable to concentrate on my work, eclipsed the time it would have taken to get the forms and fill them out myself. If his employment is a charade to keep a client happy, do I hafta play? I don't have the time -- what with all the forms and all -- and I've never much liked charades.