I'm so "capable."

So, you know those lawyers you see in Court and they're obviously about five years older than you, and they're talking to one of their friends from law school, and they're like, "Oh, crap. I have to run down to the fourth floor to go before Miller and then up to the sixth floor for Zabel," and you're like "Woah, you're handling more than one hearing?! HOW?!"

Especially considering how you're about half-a-Starbucks from wetting yourself and you're working on sweating through your suit's armpits, because you have to go into court and talk?! To a judge? And argue with that dickhead sitting across the table from you? And not reach across the table and grab him by his Jones New York tie, and head butt him in his Jew-hook nose until he bleeds?

I've always thought those lawyers were "capable," because, you know, they probably hadn't woken up in a cold sweat three times the night before because they actually had to go to Court and have a hearing the next day... let alone TWO hearings.

Well, ladies and germs, I have two hearings tomorrow.

And one of them is going to be verrrrrrrry interesting.

Especially because my client, for whom I've fought tooth and nail to keep from being evicted, has turned out to be the douchiest of douchebags, and at my motion to withdraw from his retarded case, will likely be thrown out on his ear for his seeming inability to pay his rent less than fifteen days late. (That's a big boo-boo. Especially when someone's trying to evict you. And especially, ESPECIALLY when your firm has done SUCH a good job of fighting for him, that the asshole on the other side concedes and offers you a consent judgement where your client ets to stay, but your client is a jerk and never responds.) Let's hope the shit really hits the fan and I end up "defending" a motion for summary judgment against him, when I have nary a thing to say on the matter (BECAUSE I'M WITHDRAWING) except "Uh, there's a genuine issue of material fact, so they're not entitled to judgment as a matter of law. Thanks, Your Honor! I'll be here all night! Try the veal!"

I found out I was handling two hearings today at about the same time when another one of my gems of a client was screeching in my ear about something about... rent and... Oh, I don't know. I wasn't listening. I was daydreaming about not being a lawyer anymore.

I'm apparently becoming capable just in time to realize that... how do I put this delicately? This might not be working out.

I like the intellectual challenge. I like WINNING! I like the affirmation! And to be quite honest, and not toot my own horn, I'm really fucking good at what I do. I'm smart, I write brilliant motions and formulate amazing arguments. I win most of the motions I draft. I can research the shit out of any issue, and get you a winner. (Except when I can't. Like tomorrow, when my client is going to be tossed out and my only job is to defer to the Court's judgment, because... uh... I have no fucking defense.) I'm a good lawyer. I'll get exasparated at you for being an idiot and repeatedly telling me the same things that aren't germane to your case, but I'll file your complaint correctly, and never get a motion to dismiss accusing me of not having stated a cause of action, or having failed to attach an exhibit upon which the complaint was founded. I'll get your bogus interpleader action dismissed and I'll get you some attorney's fees and costs.

I do not, however, like how I'm always being yelled at, and how everyone on the other end of the phone is a schmuck. I'm incapable of being a schmuck. It doesn't get anyone anything. You get more flies with honey than vinegar. I'm not a screamer and I'm not a threatener. That doesn't WORK in life. All that does is kill you. But, because I deal with screamers all day long, it may well be killing ME. I wake up and dread going to work. And then I stay at work for 12 hours feeling my blood pressure rise.

And then I come home and try to forget about work. Which is easier said than done when you have to prepare for two hearings the following day. So, I will have worked about 14 hours today.
I may re-take up drinking. That worked for me. Oh, sure, I felt like ass all day at work, but I'm going to feel like ass anyway at work, and at least when I drink, I fall back to sleep when I bolt up at 4 a.m. So I'm better rested, right?

Part of me wants to run away from this job, but I don't think any other job will be better. I'm well-treated. (Again, thank God.) I'm re-gaining "Golden Child" status, both with my boss and with the new partner. Another associate calls me the "Aggressive litigator," even though "Deer-in-the-headlights" might be a better moniker. The devil you know is better than the devil you don't know... although I'm beginning to think I'm well underpaid for my services. I could use a thirty-to-forty grand hike in salary. Then I could go back to being fantastic and fabulous, like I used to be. I don't remember the last time I bought new clothes. Seriously. I don't.

But it's not all gloom n' doom. I guess I'm just freaking out because I'm starting to get pushed out of the baby pool. I'm good enough to handle myself and get 'er done.

But I really am starting to miss my training wheels.