Switching Gears

Two weeks ago, I left The Job for good. Here are just a few of the reasons why:

First, let's visit everybody's favorite place - the break room, which is a former closet, now plastered in warnings, demands, and threats.

 

But nice effort on filling that bowl of oatmeal with water and leaving it 

in the sink for two weeks, like some kind of science experiment.

  

 Sorry, I can't quite make that out. There's too much GD food splattered on your sign.

And FYI, throwing up in your trash can while sitting in your cube does not count.

GO.AWAY.

However, shit thrown on that table over there? That can stay forever.

Liquefied circus peanuts, anyone?

 

Not sure what happened here ...

 

but they apparently mean business.

 

And please help yourself to some donuts - we got them for the temp who left Friday

and brought them back out for "Chris," who started six days later. Yes, really.

Now, a quick tour of the office.

 

Over here, we've got a wall full of these file cabinet's.

  

 Check out our modern decor.

 

Hungry yet? It's 9:45 - sure ya are!

And finally, the second most popular spot in the joint, after the break room. Which is also the order in which they are visited.

So many questions. Not the least of which is why 2 pumps or sprays?

Who decided that?

Do you see? Do you see why I had to go?

"Good."

"Many thank's."

VICTORY

From the blog I write for Peach:

Somehow, 28 months have passed in the blink of an eye and at a snail's pace at the same time. And here we are at the finish line. Finally. It almost seems like time should have been standing still, now ready to begin again - but it's over two years later, and I am in awe of the poised young lady we now have in our midst. She has faced every challenge with quiet strength and a wisdom and confidence well beyond her years. She has moved through this experience with grace and determination and, quite often, a smile. She has been patient and trusting and never ever doubtful. And she soundly and decidedly kicked leukemia's butt.

And so, it is done. I am overwhelmed by the messages, texts, and all-out LOVE that has been coming at us from all sides today. We celebrated by holding our second annual charity art show for childhood cancer research and our third annual blood drive and marrow donor registration drive - both hugely successful events, yet again. Peach did two television interviews, got hugs and well-wishes from just about everyone in Austin, Texas, and handled all the hoopla so very well. That girl, y'all - That.GIRL. It was truly the best day ever. Ever.

Much more to say, and I will, once I float back down to Earth. Love love love to all.

This Is Dedicated To The One I Love

Six years and 399 posts later, I think it's time to give T-Bone some love. I mean, I've told you before, many times in fact, about what a great partner and father he is, plus The Great Story of how we met. He's a keeper, that one. And I really do know how lucky I am.

But it still hit me like a ton of bricks at a blood cancer conference we went to this weekend. We listened to a panel of "cancer moms" tell their war stories, and several of them had the same doctor. They all nodded when one mom shared a moment from the beginning of their journey when that doctor took her husband and her aside and said, "I can cure your child's cancer. But I can't guarantee that you two will be together when it's over." Damn.

T-Bone and I talked about that at the start of everything - how we really needed to check in with each other every day and take a moment here and there to just BE together - but no one ever put it to us so bluntly, or really any way at all. We could immediately see how difficult this was going to be, even with a solid foundation, and I told him early on that "This is our trial." As a couple, as parents, as people. And it has certainly been that.

And we've kicked ass.

Two months from today, Peach will take her last dose of chemotherapy and go off treatment. Five months from today, I will shave my fool head in celebration of her victory and in support of St. Baldrick's and childhood cancer research. And 50 years from today, T-Bone will still be greeting me every day with "There she is." and his precious smile.

Truly, madly, deeply.

The Great Escape

So I'm plotting my departure from The Job. For real. Actually, I've been plotting it since the day I got there, over three years ago. JimiNEE, has it been that long? See, that's how they get you. The fluorescent lights, the Goody Days, and the GD banality of it all finally wear you down until one day, you look up, and 20 years have gone by, and they're planning some brisket plate (dessert's extra) retirement party for you in Conference Room 3. Well, not me, sister - no thanks. I'm OUT.

Not quite yet, but soon. The plan is to wait until Peach has finished kicking cancer's ass, and my officemate gets back from maternity leave (I couldn't leave them two warm bodies down. I'm not a total bitch.), and then it's adios, mofos. Somewhere around mid-May? Sounds good to me. And where am I going, what am I doing? What all bright(?), young(?) attorneys-at-law, esquires do - I'm hanging out the proverbial shingle.

I know, right! Me, the lawyer who really doesn't like practicing law. Here's what happened: I was at The Job a couple of months back, cursing my work and the asshole lawyers and their asshole clients who make my days so very unpleasant. I found myself saying, "How can you not get this right? Anyone can do this! Even I can do this!" And then I thought, "Yes, as dumb as I am, even I could really do this." Meaning, the same boring work I do now, but for the little guy, instead of The Man. And do it right, and make everybody happy, for roughly the same check each month, but over fewer hours and with exactly NO CRAZY. So T-Bone and I have been mulling over the logistical aspects of "opening" a practice and deposing law school friends about their experiences in the biz. I've done a lot of research on the procedural and practical aspects of this very narrow area of law and how I can get a case from Point A to Point B - and get paid for it. Also, I've spent a fair amount of time trying to grow the balls to actually do this.

Yes, it's risky, but it's also very necessary. As good as they've been to me during Peach's treatment, I'm going Nowhere Fast, personally and professionally, if I stay in that place. I'm really feeling called to the non-profit arena, so the short-term goal is to work to support my Cancer World volunteering habit. The long-term goal is to break all the way into a non-profit career and leave this fucking powdered wig behind for good, but I've got to get my foot in the door first. You know, the foot I've had out the door at The Job since orientation three years ago.

So, baby steps. But it's a start.