Help.

I kind of hate my job.

A lot.

It's less my job, and more the fact that I'm incredibly underpaid and with this stupid job market, I'm loathe to jump ship when at least I have "job security" (hee! hee!) even if, for the most part, every new case that lands on my desk makes me want to eat a bucket of fuck.

I'm having fantasies of switching over to Personal Injury. Not PIP work, but good old fashioned soft tissue injuries. Nice indoor work with no heavy lifting.

Those P.I. lawyers are the ones who make all the money anyway... and it's easy(ier).

Pick a theme: "Little Johnny will never again be able to skip down the street," "When they married Ana and Rodolfo thought they'd have a lifetime of happiness together... not a lifetime of bedpans and IV feeding..." "Little Clara can't hug her mommy again, because that man wanted to get to the Bar two minutes earlier."

Whatever.

And then just make the jury cry or milk the insurance company for settlement money and take 1/3rd of it.

Sure, I've totally forgotten what a Fabre defendant is, or what a Mary Carter agreement is, or how to fill out a demand for insurance benefits, but... pfft. Piece of cake. Incident date, injuries, policy limits... it'd all come back to me.

And it's easy. Just some anatomy and basic tort law. Crocodile tears for the jury, and a client, bubbling into a nebulizer on the Plaintiff's side...

Boxes of discovery? What's that? Was the light red or was it green? Was it wet or was it dry? Did you clean the puddle of vomit off your steps, or leave it there for seven hours?

Yeah... this whole not ambulance chasing thing...

It may have been a mistake.

I actually looked forward to going to work every day when I worked in the P.I. firm...