And Other Things

It’s a shame to collect on messes like this one. God knows I have dealt with countless numbers of them, for what has seemed like an eternity. There is a light breeze from a ceiling fan. The home office is decorated in somewhat of an Art-Deco fashion. Polished wood paneling, nature scenes by Monet on canvass, a large mahogany desk with a Tiffany lamp. Potted palms sit on either side of the French doors that lead to the veranda. The faint smell of lemon oil is in the air. The housekeeper polished the floor just earlier today. He liked them to shine. A red oriental rug is on the floor which makes the blood that flowed from his veins harder to spot.

The Rain, The Park and Other Things by the Coswills is playing on repeat in the background. I always liked that song. It seems ironic that someone of my ilk would like that song. People always assume that it would be heavy metal or something dark and brooding that would suit our tastes. Or perhaps not music at all--rather, the sounds of lamentations and weeping would be music to our ears. Not so. Well, sure, some of my colleagues would disagree, but me, I like something a little more chipper. It gets me through the day.

I made him let himself go slowly. One cut to the arm. When I step on the rug, the blood seeps up around my shoe. He had a lot of time to think about what would have helped him change. Clearly, it wasn’t upbeat pop music from the British Invasion.

I wonder if he was he feeling alone. Was he lamenting not talking to that girl he saw in the park that one rainy summer day 23 years ago? Is that why he chose this song? Did he regret cheating on that chemistry exam in college? Did he regret removing his wedding band when he was out for drinks? Did he regret skipping his daughter’s 4^thgrade Christmas play? Did he regret lying to his partner about the deal that cost his partner millions but made him just as much?

No, there were no regrets over any of that. He lived life to the fullest. He took his risks. He did what he had to do. Everyone knew what he was. He was successful and powerful. The community would never accuse him of being fair or kind, but they would always admire him for what he built and his rise to power. He was respected, but feared. You don’t get to the top without stepping on a few heads, and using a few karma points, after all.

I knew he was ready a few weeks ago. He was in the bathroom, washing his face. As he lifted his head to look from the porcelain sink to his own reflection, he had a memory flash about an event a couple of years ago in a cheap motel in the middle of Nevada. He got a hooker for the night. She looked like the girl from the park. He liked that about her because he always lamented not talking to her that one day 23 years ago, and he considered this a bit of a do-over. He beat her and left her for dead. When he was finished, he went to the bathroom in the hotel room to wash his face. The dull hum of the old bathroom fan was grating against his ears, but it didn't matter--he would be gone soon anyway. He looked up in the mirror and smiled, because he knew there would be no consequences. He left and never knew what happened to the girl. When he looked in the mirror a few weeks ago, he smiled again, thinking of how he still had ‘it.’ The guilt that often rings in a person’s head like the gentle yet persistent hum of a fan, much like the fan that was in that motel bathroom, just wasn’t there. It was time for me to collect.

Today was a partly cloudy day. 73 degrees. There was a nice breeze from the ocean coming in through the French doors. He just saved a million dollars by closing one of his factories. He decided to head home early. He put on some music and sat at his desk to read the Times and drink his Turkish coffee. He always liked the way the house keeper made the coffee just right. He was perfectly at ease. It was time for him to hear that persistent hum he had been ignoring for so long.

He thought first of the girl in the hotel. He thought of the girl in the park. The hum got louder, more like the buzz. He turned the music up, fiddled with the speaker wires. Made a mental note to have someone check out his equipment--it was top quality, after all. He noticed the peculiar feeling started to set in--one he hasn never felt before. His heart was sinking and dread started to consume him. I made him remember what it felt like when he threw a punch at the hooker. He looked down to his arm, and noticed the scar she had left when she kicked him with his stiletto. He remembered the scuffed white shoe and the smear of his blood that left with it, and how she paid for marking his flawless skin. He thought about the people who were rendered jobless or homeless for his business decisions. He thought about his daughter--I showed him a vision of her snorting coke in her high school bathroom, stealing and selling coins from her dad's prize collection for more coke money. I showed him visions of his wife laughing with his best friend and sharing moments with him that he would never know with her. He couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was going to implode.

He couldn’t see me. He was too panicked, but they can never see me unless I let them, anyway. I gently directed him to the letter opener. Dull, yet effective. He lost himself, I helped him find his way. I suggested a slow shallow cut.

It took him a good couple of hours to completely leave. Plenty of time to get everything through to him. His lamentation and regret were savory. His tears were delightful. I let him see me right at the very end. I studied him. I leaned in tasted his tears. I smelled his cologne, his sweat and his fear, mixed in with the coppery warmth of his blood. I could feel the warmth of life that was leaving his veins. I took in each and every event and relished it. He did not give in his life; I made sure that in death, he gave me everything he could.

I can't help but wonder what happened to that girl in the park from 23 years ago.

The pen is mightier than the sword

I am an alumnae of the Beta Theta chapter of Alpha Xi Delta.  Our pin is in the shape of a quill, to remind us of our motto, "the pen is mightier than the sword."  I am thinking of this today because it reminds me of the great responsibility not just AZD's, but we all carry, to choose our words wisely and meticulously, as they can have tremendous impact on the people who encounter them.

I have seen a lot of situations lately where people have used words to do some major damage to others. Hell, I went through it myself on Friday (See my last blog). And I guess if you want to get technical, it is an occupational hazard of mine, but I digress.   But one situation of late really reminded me of the quill:  Some friends had a falling out.  A couple of them extended an olive branch in hopes of at least gaining closure and peace--not necessarily to reestablish a full connection.  Like a strike from an expertly trained swordsman, the response they received was piercing and swift, and caused a lot of pain.

Before I go on, I must pontificate a bit and say that I believe that everyone is always entitled to their feelings.   I think that's normal. It's part of being human. As humans, we are entitled to feel whatever we want.  We have a great responsibility to ourselves to remember that it's okay to feel. Free will, it is a bitch (she says sarcastically).For the people in the particular situation above, I can only assume there is variety of feelings rolling around, making the world seem like they're look at it through a kaleidoscope.

However, I will also say that another large part of of the responsibility of being human is that which we have to each other.  Everyday, we are faced with the choice of how to treat people.  We are faced with the choice to say 'please' or 'thank you.' We are faced with the choice to say 'no, thanks' or 'eff no, are you stupid??'  I was speaking to another friend recently and she reminded me that if you put good energy out into the universe, you will get good energy back.  Karma.  What goes around comes around.  You reap what you sow.  (side note:  I love how I just unintentionally wrote the above line in a very abrupt Shatneresque manner. annnnyway...)

I believe the weight and value of our words are often overlooked, not necessarily by others, but by ourselves.  We have such a great responsibility to others in that each step we take in this intrinsic universal dance, that I think we often forget that everything we do is a cause and will elicit an effect.  I'm not sure which is more dangerous--those who do not take care to pay attention to their words, or those who are cognizant of their words, and meticulously choose them, with a blatant disregard for the feelings of those to whom they are delivering the words.

I've said it before, I'll say it again. In the words of Abe Lincoln as portrayed in Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure, "Be excellent to one another." So I guess today, I am thankful for the values that my sorority instilled upon me.  Yes, I struggle everyday to remember the weight of my words, and I think particularly more than others, merely for my chosen profession. But I try, and I guess that's all anyone can do.

Today's story is about a kid with a great future

A couple of months ago, I attended a CLE seminar, where a local judge regaled us with stories of his early career, visiting prisoners and interviewing them. There was one situation where the convict had a particularly nasty arrogance about him, and informed the lawyer-turned-judge that when he was done interviewing him, he would let the lawyer know, because he wasn't sure he really liked him or wanted to proceed. The lawyer-turned-judge (I like typing that) packed up his brief case and stood up to leave without saying a word.  The prisoner told him to sit down because he was not done talking to him yet, and he therefore could not leave until the prisoner gave him permission to.  To which the lawyer-turned-judge  replied 'the difference between me and you is that you are required to stay here. I however, am not, and may leave any time I like, because I am on the other side of the bars.'  The client shut up, and respectfully listend to the lawyer-turned-judge.

When I heard this story, I thought the way he exercised control over the situation was admirable; I never thought i would say something like that to one of my clients.  I pride myself in the patience and respectful tone I am able to exercise over my clients.

 Today, for the first time, I got up mid interview with a client and told him I was done and when he was ready to talk to me, I would listen.  I should note that this was after about 20 minutes of dandy proclimations from my client such as 'you are with the prosecutor' and 'man, court appointed--more like disappointed. You are the shittiest lawyer ever' and 'hey, you slacking on your job--i aksed (sic) you to get me my paperwork. Quit being a lazy bitch. You don't even know what you need to do anyway, cause you court appointed. You suck at your job.'  and gems such as 'you think I'm scared of prison? I ain't scared. I know people who go in and out all the time. I ain't worried about nothing.  I just don't like that you're screwing me on this. I'll be in and out in no time, and you will still be here, doing nothing.'

At that point, I got pissed. My filter faded away.  I lost my ability to remember that he is a broken and dejected kid who knows nothing but the streets.  I told him that judging by the fear that crept across his face when I informed him that he would be doing a mandatory sentence of two years, and his excessive lashing out, I would have thought otherwise of his proclamation of fearlessness, but if he wanted to continue to deny it, and refuse to be open in communicating with me, then that was fine.  I then told him the conversation was over and I would inform the prosecutor of how we will proceed from there.

Yeah, I am not proud of how I handled that. I am quite ashamed, actually.  For two reasons. First, I let him get to me.  I didn't sit in my objective seat and keep the emotion out of it. I let his barbs cut me and I did not rise above.  I spend so much time trying to sit in my objective place that sometimes it's just exhausting. I liken it to being the referee at a volleyball match--I am able to see the game up close, but I am sitting up above the game, and able to see things from a distance, and not get too involved.  Sometimes I feel like I fall out of my chair and get tangled in the net. 

I am without a doubt, my own worst enemy. I know I can't be perfect.  But it's like I'm hit with one thing after another these days....

Ok I just have to blog about this because I am really annoyed. No attempts at being witty here, just a complete purge and expression of emotion about some stuff.

I was really good friends with a couple of people and they very suddenly cut me out of their lives. I don't know why. They have not only deleted me from facebook, but blocked me as well. I haven't spoken with them in a few weeks, and the last time we were speaking, it was to plan a trip to get together. I have no idea where this could have come from. I texted them to ask what was up, to no avail. I respect their decision (although I am completely baffled), but i am really put off by the fact that they just completly cut off contact. Who does that? I mean seriously, I am still fb friends with the guy who didn't have the balls to fire me, and his posse--and these alleged friends, people who I considered among my closest friends at one time (though we have admittedly grown apart, but due to time, other commitments and distance), can't even say 'hey larissa, we have a beef with you about x?' What the fuck is wrong with people today?! What it comes down to is that my feelings are hurt. I hate that.

Beef number 2: I am currently observing a situation in my job where my client's soon to be ex is acting extremely manipulative, is calculating and a bit nutty. I can see it a mile away. Everyone can, including my client. The ex is just rotten and in my opinion, as mad as a hatter. Lately, I have purged a few people like that from my life (both personal and professional), and the more I deal with people like that, the quicker I become less tolerant, and dare I say, quicker to purge them from my life. I used to be SO tolerant and forgiving and understanding of people's behaviors, quirks, etc. I think i still am. I am still nice and kind and accepting But I just can't do bs anymore. I can't take excuses, lies, bullshit. I'm sick of being burned. I am sick of people who burn others. The minute I smell even a hint of any of that, it's like I transform into an angry and hungry velociraptor. I hate that. Because of my ever-shortening fuse, I feel like i am combatting two natures within.

I guess the moral of the blog tonight is: I just don't get why people think it's okay to act the way they do sometimes. Whether it be by sense of entitlement or by virtue, I am just fed up with shitty behavior. >:/

I think he christmas season will do me some good this year. Nothing like a little Christmas Spirit to make you feel good.

Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly

Ive been thinking a lot about the title quote by Robert Kennedy lately. I have felt enormous pressure lately about failing. I feel like I have taken so many risks over the past year or so, and it's getting to me. With each failure, I think, 'shit, here I go again.' and with each success, I think 'ok that's great, but how can I improve?'

I can't think like that anymore. It's not good for the soul. It's not loving. I will never feel successful at that rate. It's not that I'm afraid to take risks anymore; it's that I tire of the disappointment. My greatest fear is not failing; my greatest fear is letting the way I react to failure turn me into a callous, cynical bitch.

Voltaire said 'you can't control the hand you are dealt, but you can control how you play your cards.' I now choose to play my hand differently because at the turn of the day, the only one who can fight my cynical side is me.

blog this.

At the most kind and gentle requests from a handful of friends who find my writing at least some what amusing or interesting, I have decided to take a gander in the ole blog once again. It has been too long since my last post. I feel better when I blog. It allows me to get things off my chest and calms my ever-increasing eye twitch. I vow to make a better effort at blogging more often. And let's face it, I just like to talk about myself, so why the hell shouldn't I blog more often?

Annnnyway, today is a watershed date in l'histoire de Larissa. I finally settled a case I have been working on for over a year. I daresay that 'working on' is far too light of a term for this situation. I worked my fingers to the bone on this case. I fought the good fight, spent countless hours on this case. I have put more time, energy, effort and xanax into this case than any other (I jest about the xanax--I've never actually tried it. Though I hear it's delightful).

I have been envisioning the day my client would sign the final judgment for months now. I could just see her clicking the blue, medium point pen, slowly putting the pen to paper, and signing the paper that would change her life forever. I could envision the sweat gather on her upper lip as she wrung (wringed? wrings?) her hands together in anticipation of what was to come. I could see her breath quicken in anticipation of me taking the copy from her to file with the court. In my head, this all happens with great heaviness, as you would expect in a nice dramatic, funny 80's coming of age story about two teenagers finding their way in the world, with a great soundtrack, likely produced or directed by John Hughes.

But that's not how it happened. I fought until the very end, like I always have in this case. I thought for sure she wouldn't sign it. The signing was anti climatic, and over in all of about 5 seconds. Confident she wouldn't complete the end task we set forth together to do over a year ago, it was in fact I, who reacted the most. I gripped the arms of the chair, leaned forward and felt my pulse quicken. I could almost feel my pupils dial ate as I licked my lips and leaned forward like a cheetah about to pounce on its prey. I was so overt in my actions, my client stopped before signing and asked me if I was supposed to witness her signature or something.

After it was all said and done, I thought I would feel some relief, some reprieve some...well, something! But there was nothing. I mean, this is a case which has caused my insides to twist and turn and tangle, and I get nothing??? If you add up all the time I spent on this case, and divide it by what I charged her (read: charged, not what she has paid me, because that's even more disturbing than a torture porn flick), it comes out to less than $10/hour. All I could think of is the best way to copy everything, and at about what time I could get out of the office to file the damned thing. There was no satisfaction. No sense of accomplishment. But there was no let down either. Just...nothing. Maybe I'm just too spent on this thing to give a shit anymore.

What i can take away from this, however, is the fact that I learned more from this case than probably any other. It is the difficult ones that burn you, from which you learn the most.

Welp, that blog went in a completely different direction from which I had anticipated, but you can't always predict where life will take you. I have a lot of ground to cover. lots going on.

soliloquy of a fallen zombie

I am quickly approaching the one-year anniversary of my end date with the zombie factory. I was going to write an analogous story about how I was given the zombie antivirus and recount my experiences in the awakening, so to speak but I don't have the desire to write a tongue in cheek story at this time--maybe reading so much of david sedaris's work has burned me out with satire.

Instead, I will ramble on as though I am holding Yorick's skull and contemplating my mortality :D. It seems odd to me that being fired from a job can have such an impact on me that it has prompted me to write anything about it one year later. It's cathardic to pull your head up and look around and reevaluate once in a while. So here's what I have come up with:

It's fairly obvious that I am passionate about the causes in which I particpate, but I guess the first thing I realized in my year is that while a career path will in part define who I am, a job and the corporate culture with which it is associated, should not.

I was in a place where having autonomy is synonomous to not being a team player, and to being a naysayer. When autonomy is per se viewed as negative and you have to constantly fight to maintain some semblance of it, it's not a good thing. I guess that also means I have learned that when you lose yourself or are absorbed in the deifinition of something else, then the thing you are involved in is probably not good for you, regardless of how good the intentions are of the larger organization.

Which leads me to my gut and the countless face-palms I have done over the past year. I know to trust my gut. When my gut tells me it's not a good situation, and when people around me are screaming 'what are you doing?!' I need to listen. Conversely, I have to admit that by sticking around, I learned so much about myself and other people, that I consider my experience absolutely invaluable.

For example, I learned that I can not let other people who project their insecurity and ignorance onto others affect how I feel about myself. I learned that the degree that someone talks themselves or their good deeds up is directly proportionate to how much of a d.bag they really are. I learned that a zombie's desire to maintain a friendship after you get the boot is directly proportionate to their degree of separation from the 'hive mind' and the inner circle. What sucks about this, is that I lost some (what I thought were) close friends.

And in all fairness, I learned great tools like how to dress better, do my make up better, and how to address people in a less harsh tone, or what I like to refer to as my "(Insert intentionally omitted corporate name here) voice." That voice has grown quite useful over the past year in dealing with my clients with kid gloves.

Ahhh, the clients....The stars and planets aligned, and I embarked on an adventure I never thought I would repeat. I opened a law practice with my friend's dad. I am eternally grateful for the experience I have gained by working with him. (If only I were paying myself yet... :/) I started out a year ago broken, dejected, rejected, and forced to start over in a career that I wasn't sure I wanted to be in. The truth is, I started awakening from the zombie trance months before we parted ways that fateful Tuesday before memorial day weekend last year. I knew that I was smarter than what I was doing and capable of challenging myself with something more. I guess I would prefer taking that leap off the cliff myself, rather than being pushed off, but hey, what can you do?

The last year, quite frankly, has been terrifying. Not only had I been rejected and told that I wasn't good enough to be at the top anymore, I had to start back at the bottom and build on something I didn't know how to build anymore. I struggle with a love-hate relationship with the zombie factory because while I hate what they did to me, how I was treated, and how they have treated others, I can't help but thank them for helping me develop some of the tools that helped me contribute to our practice and the well-being of my clients.

I am also thankful for not only the healing, but the growth that has occurred in the past year. I must give credit to other factors in my life that have nothing to do with zombies, like strengthening bonds with old friends, meeting new friends, and discovering new things about myself. And of course, my amazing, supportive family. Truth be told, getting das boot from the zombie factory was one of the hardest and one of the best things that ever could have happened to me.

Look, I'm just saying that it all could have happened better. I think that if anyone from there read this, they would probably be pissed, but I'm not saying anything in here that I wouldn't say to their faces, if they had the courage and respect to talk to me face en face.

To sum up Voltaire, you can't control the cards you are dealt, but you can control how you play your hand. Time to ante up, because I'm in this, bitches! I'm juuuust sayin'.....