Staying Alive...

[Pay attention, there's a possible theme running through this posting, identify it and you win the prize of being a geek.]

I was a mess this morning, I'm sure my boss wanted to slap me across the face just to refocus me.

I had a good two-hour drive to work off my anxiety before I got to the Capitol City. And a good half pack of Marlboro Lights smoked by the time I got there, too. In addition to four caplets of Immodium as a preventative measure. Not to be disgusting, but coffee + cigarettes + anxiety + IBS = disaster. Additionally, we had an audience, which I was not expecting at all. A business college class came to watch the performance. And now they probably think it must be really easy to get a law degree. At least maybe they'll be encouraged to continue their education beyond their current A.A. program. I'm all about fostering an educated America. Unfortunately, education does not equate to effectively and articulately responding to questions coming from 5 different chairs. I managed to drink at least 3 glasses of water during opposing counsel's opening argument. You know, in case my biggest problem was a dry mouth.

Today's performance was, well, it was OK. I have a remarkable inability to perceive my own performance in a courtroom. And in life, maybe, too. Anyway, as I expected, I stumbled out of the gate. I hear that I recovered to an acceptable degree. HLC was kind enough to cringe along with every long pause, "you know," and "I think" during the webcast. And then tell me about it, for which I am truly grateful (even tho she didn't fire me). see earlier post.

Seriously, I hate when people are like, "no, you were fine." Fine? What the F--- does that mean? I didn't get "fine," which is a relief. "Fine" means "I didn't really pay attention," or "the truth is too brutal for you to hear." I need the honest critique because I need to know what to fix and, well, I'm definitely not going to listen to it myself to figure out what went wrong. I don't have that strong of a stomach. see IBS remark.

I also appreciated Mike's comments, too. I appreciate the fact that I didn't sound worse than any of the previous three days' worth of arguments. Also nice to know that I didn't sound like I was scared shitless, despite the fact that I was.

What's the first thing I said when I walked out of the court room? "I wanna strut." And then I did. Out to the smoking hut.

Thanks to all who came to my happy hour, including Bridezilla, who doesn't know about this blog, and it's going to stay that way, or I'll expose your real identities on this blog where almost all of you know who each other are. Paper Tiger. Correction: Electronic Tiger.

Anyway, great to have Mike and Tanya home again. And it also proves my theory that this place is a black hole. I feel like we're all reformed ex-pats. Mike, Tanya, Sour Girl, HLC, Locks. Amongst us, we've lived in such foreign lands as Chicago, Seattle, Madison, Minneapolis, St. Paul (No, they are not the same city), Omaha, and Kansas. Somehow, we were all placed back into this vast wasteland we again call home. But, some days, wastelands aren't so bad. Why is the theme from "Welcome Back, Kotter" running through my head?