Ercassesanwi
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Below are the 15 most recent journal entries recorded in the "Holly" journal:
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07:34 pm
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Holly Runs into a Real Bitch at Work, and Then She Becomes a Vampire
So how many of you knew at once that my subject heading references a female dog? But on to the story.
Today I went to report the deposition of a senior-citizen expert with whom my firm is quite familiar. I was prepared to hear long, rambling testimony and to put up with flirting from someone older than my grandfather. Since the job was to last "all day," I was prepared not to have a lunch break but to sneak my packed grapes and peanut-butter sandwich during breaks. I wasn't, however, prepared for the dog.
She greeted me at the door with a growl. Then she poked her nose into my purse and the bag containing my packed lunch. The aged deponent informed me that most court reporters who come to his office know his dog and bring her a biscuit. I managed not to apologize sarcastically for not bringing an offering to placate the bitch. I set up my equipment and kept my bag as close to me as possible.
The dog knew I had food. She spent nearly half of the first three hours of the proceedings under my feet, near my bag and power strip, and once managed to trip over and unplug my backup tape recorder. Her grandfatherly master tried to coax her over to him whenever her low growling (directed mostly at me) disturbed the attorneys, but as she was deaf, it was difficult for him to get her attention. Whenever he did manage to call her to him, she would wait about five minutes before returning to her sentinel's post near my lunch.
As I'd predicted, we took no lunch break. At about 1:15, as the attorneys poured over some documents off the record, I began sneaking my grapes. The dog was on to me in a heartbeat. She watched each grape journey from my bag to my mouth, and she began to whimper audibly. When the senior expert witness asked if she were begging for some of my "damned candy" (the Tootsie Rolls I offer to attorneys and deponents during breaks), I said they were grapes. He replied, "Oh, she can have a grape." I didn't thank him for assigning a portion of my lunch to his animal over my stomach's growling, but I tossed the dog a grape and hurried to finish off the rest of them.
The entirety of the proceedings was over sometime after 2:00. The attorneys, the witness, and the dog left the conference room, and I began to pack up, deciding I'd eat my sandwich in the car on the way back to the office. The dog reentered the room and ran out. Just as she darted out the door, I looked up and saw my plastic-wrapped sandwich in her mouth. I blinked in disbelief, then looked to confirm that my sandwich was no longer in my bag. It wasn't. The bitch had it. I began to pack my equipment with greater haste, expecting any minute to hear a loud voice in the hallway saying, "Hey, what's that in the dog's mouth? Who gave her a sandwich?"
As I was zipping my case, the dog came back into the conference room with my sandwich. She had, it seems, decided to taunt me by eating my lunch in my presence. She settled under the conference table, and I heard her wrestling with the plastic. My only consolation lay in imagining her thoughts, something along the lines of "I know there's peanut butter in here. I can smell it. But it's trapped behind some kind of force field."
I thought I could escape before the bitch's theft of my lunch was discovered, but as I moved toward the conference-room door, the elderly deponent reentered followed by a retinue of young people with whom, it seems, he wanted to have a conference. He blocked my outbound path, entered my personal space, put a calloused hand on my shoulder, and said, "Thank you, Sweetie." I said in my most professional voice, "Certainly. Please excuse me. I have a very big bag." I wonder how far down the hall I got before someone discovered the dog and my sandwich. No one stopped me.
That's the story of the bitch. Now on to my new-budding vampirism.
I've noticed a strange phenomenon of late. My eyes are becoming increasingly sensitive to light. Sometimes it will be the computer screen or fluorescent lights inside, and I'll have to look down or away from the source. But mostly it's sunlight. And mostly it's when I'm driving. Today I had this problem both going to and leaving my deposition. I was squinting all the way there, and my eyes were watering. On the way back, I was in genuine pain. My right eye was the most sensitive. I spent most of the return trip with one hand over my right eye, as shutting it wasn't sufficient. Even sunlight through my eyelid was painful. By the time I got home, my tears had removed the makeup from my right eye. The left eye was squinted the whole trip, and it was a real struggle to keep it open enough to drive. If I hadn't known exactly where I was going, I would have had to pull over and wait for the sun to move.
Any thoughts on why such a strange thing is happening to me?
Current Mood:  irritated
Tags: work
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09:05 pm
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I simply can't leave well enough alone
I have noticed two trends in my day-to-day life over the last month or two. They're good trends. I'm glad they're happening. But I can't seem to enjoy them as I should, because I don't understand why they're happening.
One trend is that of attorneys calling the office and requesting me specifically to report depositions for them. As I've said, this is a good thing. When an attorney requests me, I look good. My boss hears about it. She can assume that the quality of my work and my professionalism are of a high standard. She might consider (okay, probably not) giving me a raise or, if not that, at least cutting me some slack if anyone complains about me (as is bound to happen in such a deadline-oriented job). I should be very happy. Instead, I'm confused.
I don't understand why these attorneys are requesting me, and my lack of understanding keeps me from enjoying it. Just today I was with an attorney who had requested me. His paralegal had called the office, scheduled us for the deposition, and asked for me because, in her words, "He likes Holly." That's great, I suppose. The problem is that I can hardly remember who this attorney is. When I racked my brain, I remembered one time reporting a deposition that had involved him. However, he was not the one who had hired my firm for that job; he was an attorney representing another party in the case. That means it was pure chance that he and I ended up in the same room together. I don't remember having had any interaction with him in that proceeding other than to ask him, "Would you like to order a copy of the transcript?" How did I manage to make such an impression on him? How does he even remember my name? I don't know that I managed even to give him my card on that previous occasion. Yes, my name would have been on the transcript he ordered, but I find ridiculous the idea that my transcription skills are that impressive. Transcription is an art that, when done well, is unnoticeable, rather like court reporting in general. And I doubt even the best transcription would make an attorney "like" me. I'm at a loss to understand why he requested me.
Last week, I reported a deposition for an attorney whom I understand to be particularly important to my firm, though he doesn't give us frequent business. I'd first met him when I was still in training, observing a much more seasoned court reporter report depositions for him. At that time, he'd complimented me on my ability to "disappear," to be inconspicuous during a deposition. It has now been almost two years since I finished training, and I hadn't yet reported anything for this attorney. I had once or twice seen him when he was representing another party at a deposition where I was hired by someone else, but that was all.
For this recent job, I met him when we both arrived at the deposition location together. He was friendly and greeted me by name. In the conference room, while waiting for the witness, he chatted with me and jokingly introduced me to some long-time colleagues who came in to say hi to him. The deposition lasted three hours or so, and we didn't get to depose one of the witnesses. He asked me if I would be available Friday to report the deposition of the witness we'd missed, and I said I'd call the office and see what I could do. Then he asked me where I'd parked and insisted on walking me to my car in the parking deck and watching me get in before he would leave. He's a man well over fifty, and I thought he was simply being old-fashioned and chivalrous.
When I related this story at the office, it was greeted with much surprise. It seems this attorney has been giving us little business for a while because he prefers another court reporter to us. A coworker who has been with our firm much longer than I told me that he treated me with particular friendliness, more than he gives to others from our firm on the few occasions he hires us. Again I seem to have struck an attorney's fancy, and once again I'm unsure why. I am the least experienced reporter in our firm but one, and I know my court-reporting talent cannot be that stupendous. Nor am I more friendly or personable or confident than any of my coworkers; probably I am less so. My inability to make sense of these attorneys' liking for me is driving me a bit batty.
Then there's Trend No. 2. Again, I say up front that I know this trend is a good thing, and I am not complaining that it is happening. I fully expect every female reading this entry to hurl something at the screen, so I warn them now to make sure they have pillows or something equally nonharmful at hand.
I am inexplicably losing weight. I'm not sure how much I've lost nor for how long I've been losing. Part of the reason I'm weirded out by the phenomenon is that I have no way to quantify it. I haven't stepped on a scale in over four years. I don't know how much I weigh now nor how much I weighed whenever this trend began. I have made no recent lifestyle or diet changes. When I got the occasional "Have you been losing weight?" comment, I'd shrug it off and think my outfit must have a slimming effect. But now I can't argue. I've begun wearing belts with my jeans because otherwise they sag. I'm fitting into shirts I haven't worn since college. Yet again, I'm glad but confused.
I think I'm looking good, and I'd like to maintain this weight. But since I don't know what has occasioned the weight loss, I can't continue to do it. Could I begin tomorrow to gain weight inexplicably? It would make just as much sense as this trend.
And now, too, I have one of those "problems" everyone else would like to have. My clothes aren't fitting, especially my work clothes, which are, of course, the more expensive ones. I'm glad for the opportunity to buy new clothes relatively guilt-free, but I'm not looking forward to spending the money. Buying another work wardrobe won't be cheap or quick. It took me two years to assemble what I have now. And there are still variables to consider, like whether I will continue to lose weight, or whether I'll return to my previous weight. The not knowing, and especially the not knowing why, is killing me.
So as we can see, Holly is incapable of shutting up and enjoying her good fortune.
Current Mood: OCD
Tags: appearance, work
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09:53 pm
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Urucir nyenen: Don't Worry
I apologize if I worried anyone excessively with my previous post. Yes, I was having a dark night of the soul, but no, I wasn't contemplating suicide. Thank you all for the support and good wishes you sent, especially for the phone messages, even those I didn't answer. (Thanks, ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) lauralyrics!) It is good to be reminded once again just how many wonderful friends I have.
So the bulk of the terrible workload has passed. I got the awful Friday job out on time. I even talked to the lady in charge of the calendar and got out of the Wednesday overnight job! This weekend was shot getting that Friday job out, and as I spent almost the whole time in the office working and wallowing in self-pity, I allowed myself to subsist on junk food -- chicken strips, burgers, onion rings, and ice cream. I don't think I'll do that again anytime soon, as my stomach wasn't feeling very good today. As much as I enjoy grease, I think I can handle it only in limited doses.
Despite my assertion in my previous post, I have been doing at least one thing other than working. I've been apartment hunting like a maniac. With the loss of my beloved former roommie supermer, I have had to look for a cheaper place to reside. The search started very ill, the complexes I visited offering one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartments for only about $100-$150 less than my current rent for this townhouse. But I finally found a gem of an apartment in Cary, with which I am thrilled. It's quite large, about 960 square feet, with two bedrooms, great closets, two full bathrooms, and a fireplace, at as good or better a price than the tiny one-bedrooms I was considering. (So if queserasarah ever decides to move back home from Ireland, she could be my roommie again!) Part of the good price is due to the haggling of my rich Yankee brother-in-law. I signed my lease Saturday, and I will be moving in April 1st. I plan to use food to bribe friends into helping me move, so anyone who's bribable, especially if you have a truck, please let me know. At present I'm considering making shrimp etoufee (a Cajun dish) for anyone who helps, but further suggestions are welcome.
Well, tomorrow I go to jail (no kidding), so I must be off to bed.
Current Mood:  exhausted
Current Music: Andrea Bocelli
Tags: work
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06:03 pm
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Breaking Point
I may at present be as close to a nervous breakdown as I have ever been in my life.
All I post about is work, because all I do is work. And yet I have been, for the past month and a half, apartment hunting, as well. Because I don't have time to do both, I have been cutting back on sleep.
I am behind at work. Attorneys are calling to rush jobs they didn't book as rush jobs. I worked till 7:00 last night. Today had an all-day deposition, with no lunch break, that the attorney wants e-mailed to him on Monday. I will relive this all-day job twice or more this weekend. Monday I will be in the office trying frantically to get this job to him on time. Tuesday I have an out-of-town job. Wednesday I have an out-of-town job that the attorney wants done overnight, no kidding. Thursday I have an out-of-town job. Friday I have an out-of-town job booked as a rush. Between driving and reporting, I don't know when I'll get to the work I have piling up on my desk at the office.
It's 6:15 on Friday. I'm at the office. I'm too crazy and stressed to get anything done, but I can't go home, because there is too much work to do. I don't have time to go to the store, and I'm about to run out of essentials like toilet paper.
And I can't think of anyone to call.
Current Mood: crying without ceasing
Tags: work
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10:14 pm
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Just a Little Whining, and then an Interesting Observation to Make It Worthwhile
For those of you who wish to skip the whining, scroll down to the bold INTERESTING OBSERVATION section.
So I bought a plane ticket to go down to Texas this past Friday to attend my best friend Marjorie's baby shower. (She's due in March.) In the middle of the preceding week, an attorney called me at work to tell me that he needed the transcript to a ridiculously long job (one he hadn't booked as a rush job) by Friday, meaning I had to get it out by Thursday. The typist returned the job but without the disk on which she had typed it, rendering me incapable of proofing it. After many desperate phone calls and much shedding of tears, the typist e-mailed me the job, and I finished it by late Thursday. Even with taking off Friday, I worked over forty-two hours that week.
Friday I hopped on the plane and stopped in Atlanta to make my connection to Houston. I made the mistake of turning on my phone and found three messages from work telling me that two more attorneys were calling and demanding transcripts (again not booked as rush jobs) ASAP. At that moment, I was too frustrated to call in to work employing anything resembling a reasonable tone, so I waited. When I landed in Houston, I had five more messages from work; one attorney had to have his transcript by Monday, the other hers by Sunday evening. (I would be landing back in Raleigh on Sunday at 6:30.)
With a spectacular burst of adrenaline-laced effort, I got these transcripts to their respective attorneys, staying late Monday to finish. Today (Tuesday), I had an all-day job in Clayton, starting at 9:00 AM and ending just after 3:00 PM. The attorney at this job asked me to deliver to him two excerpts from this deposition within 24 hours. During this deposition, I got a call from work to say that the attorney for a job I'd done quite a while ago (and whose transcript I had not yet proofed, because of having to get out all these last-minute rush requests) had called to demand his (over-200-page) transcript by tomorrow (Wednesday). He will be sending a courier tomorrow to get the hard copy. So I worked a total of 12.5 hours today, leaving at 8:30 and planning to return early tomorrow to meet my new deadlines.
INTERESTING OBSERVATION
I've heard of the shopping-as-a-result-of-depression phenomenon commonly associated with Western women, but I hadn't experienced it personally until tonight. I left work feeling quite pitiful and put-upon. I hit the intersection from which I go home or, alternatively, go to Borders. With a not-at-all characteristic (for Holly) last-minute lane change, I headed for Borders to drown my sorrows in a chai latte.
Once I got there and got my chai, I had to wander and browse, as it is a book store. I decided to treat myself to something more than the chai. I got a book. Then I saw that their CDs were buy 3 get the 4th free. Yes, I know that can hardly be considered a sale, especially when one considers that book-store CDs are significantly more expensive than the same CDs purchased at Target, but I was emotionally vulnerable and discovering the superficial high of the impulse purchase. I was swept along into (I cringe to say it) a $50 spending spree.
Now I am left wondering if I have now become more normal, having joined the ranks of depression-shopping women, or if I have set myself apart by getting my shopping high in a book store, of all places. Comments are welcome.
I am frustrated also that my first update in so long is whiny and that I do not have the time to mention some noteworthy things that have happened to me of late -- that I've watched my first superbowl all the way through, that I went to Papa Lou's (a burger joint) in my opera dress, that I've mused on the intricate differences between the way males and females speak. I write these here so that I may remember them and elaborate on them later, though that tactic has failed in the past.
Current Mood: stressed
Current Music: Figlio Perduto
Tags: work
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08:23 am
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Mahtale i Vinya Cotumo Heru: Fighting the New Tyranny
Wow, that subject heading sounds all important and poetic, but what I mean by it is simply that I get bogged down by mundane tasks and never get around to doing what is important in life. The Tyranny of the A (see 3-6-04 entry) has now been replaced by the Tyranny of the Mundane, and the universe seems to conspire against my ever breaking free.
My best friend Marjorie, whom I love and who is always so good to me, tries to help. She very recently gave me a much-needed deadline, telling me that what she wants for Christmas from me is the name of the graduate school I plan to attend. Isn't she wonderful? (She says "evil," but I know it's because she knows me and has my best interest at heart.) She recently called to ask about my progress. I had to tell her the truth: None. I didn't enjoy telling her, but it did spur me into every intention of getting something done.
Then I get one 60-hour workweek and one 50-hour workweek. Yes, I came into the office on Labor Day. I hate having to be a workaholic. I come home with no energy and little desire to eat dinner, wanting to do nothing but veg. Nothing was accomplished those weeks. This (past) week, I had decided, would be one of productivity, especially the weekend. I spent the week running overdue errands so that they wouldn't be in my way during the weekend. I planned to spend Saturday buckling down and finishing my home mundane tasks -- paperwork mostly. (I haven't balanced my checkbook in a while, and I've never seriously looked at my health-insurance information and gotten a doctor and dentist.) Sunday would begin my renewed efforts at grad-school research and writing.
Thursday, driving to Greenville for a late job I didn't want, as it would make me miss my dance lesson, I realized that I was getting sick. Can you tell when you're getting sick? I felt squiggy in my sinuses, and I couldn't relieve the pressure no matter how rudely I sniffed and snorted, a sure sign of trouble to come. Also, my jaw began to ache, a sure sign that I'm getting a fever, the bad, achy kind. (I'm not sure why my jaw starts to ache first, but it does.) I finished the job at 7:00, was back to Raleigh by 8:30, and was sick all night. I couldn't sleep for any longer than an hour at a time before waking up hot and achy and miserable. My fever finally broke at 3:30. I managed to sleep from about 4:14 to 6:45; then I got up and went to work for two and a half hours to top of a 40-hour week. Then I came home, doped up on Tylenol and Sudafed, and spent the day in bed in a stupor.
Need I say "There went my weekend"? I'm no longer comatose or fevered, but I'm too weak to do anything. (I mean anything. I've gone three days without doing Pilates. If that doesn't mean anything to you, you don't know me very well.) I get exhausted loading the dishwasher and washing my sheets. I haven't followed up on any of my intentions to get stuff done, and I still have those horrible piles of paperwork unsorted and un-looked-at. I'll probably be capable of going back to work on Monday, when I'll have more mundane tasks to perform. Is it not a conspiracy? Why should a girl even try?
Okay. I'm not really quite that pessimistic, but it sure felt good to type out those last two sentences.
Of course, most people, in my experience, want their mothers when they're sick. I sure did. In my case, however, it's usually because I want to be babied. I love being babied when I'm sick. I love for someone to wipe my brow and bring me hot soup and cold fizzy drinks, to ask me if I need anything and tell everyone else to be quiet so I can rest. Some people, though, (I can't fathom why) don't like to be babied when sick; they want to be left alone. I would feel abandoned. I was so glad for everyone who sent me little IMs and e-mails to check on me and wish for me to get well, and for firebreatherjen who visited me. Thank you all. Anyway, I was wondering, for a brief LJ poll, when you're sick, do you like to be babied or left alone?
Current Mood:  sick
Tags: sick, tyranny of the mundane, work
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04:26 pm
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Holly's Overdeveloped Work Ethic
I got a sore throat two days ago. It was in the middle of a deposition, and I remember feeling so sore and so tired that I couldn't wait for the attorneys to finish. I was devastated when I got a phone message from work saying that if I finished in time, there was another deposition I was needed to cover at 5:30. Fortunately, my going deposition lasted long enough that I was spared the later one.
The next day, my throat was still sore, especially when I awoke. I had planned to stay late and get at some of the work that was piling up, but I was so tired that I went home after having worked (only) eight hours. I called my mom to ask her advice, and she told me to go see a doctor. I didn't want to, because I felt so tired and because I didn't know where to go. I felt bad again the next day, so I went to a clinic after work. As always, Mom was right. I had a sinus infection, an inflamed throat (probably not strep), and a swollen left ear. The doctor wrote me out of work and gave me three prescriptions.
Still, I didn't want to miss work. I'm behind because we're understaffed right now. (We just hired my friend Miranda, who's now in training.) After three phone calls with friends trying to convince me, I decided to stay home. Even so, since I had my transcriber at home, I proofed over a hundred pages and made a quick trip to work to print it out and turn it in. I can't even manage to stay home from work.
Now, I'm going to take a nap.
Update: It's several hours later, and I realize that I haven't been hungry all day. I can't eat enough of anything to be considered a meal. If there were any doubt previously, it is now established that I am definitely ill.
Current Mood: sick
Tags: sick, work
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11:31 pm
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a buch of short clips
Several relatively interesting things have happened to me lately. In no particular order:
I was stalked by an 18-wheeler driver on the highway. At first I thought it was in my head. I already am nervous around big trucks because when I was learning to drive, my grandfather took me on the freeway (too soon) where I knocked off his side-view mirror against an 18-wheeler. Normally, I pass them or let them pass me. I never travel alongside one. This one I couldn't seem to move around. I thought perhaps he, like me, was going the speed limit. I would try to pass him, and he would seem to speed up. I moved over one lane to the left; so did he. I slowed down; so did he. I was very nervous and frustrated, but I still wasn't sure I wasn't making it up. So I began to speed up, waiting till he was beginning to speed up, too, and then went back down to the speed limit as his momentum carried him forward. Then, to my horror, he waved to me as we passed.
This truck-stalking incident happened on my way back from a deposition in Asheboro, over an hour and a half from Raleigh. The deposition was to start at 1:30, and I was supposed to leave at around 11:20 to get there in plenty of time. For reasons unbeknownst to man, I wrote "12:20" on my directions instead. At ten to noon, Lynda walked upstairs and asked, "Aren't you going to Asheboro today?" I responded that I was leaving around 12:30. "It takes only an hour to get there?" she asked, at which point it all clicked, and I ran out the door. I, compulsive speed-limit follower that I am, went five over the whole way (for which I've been applauded by roommie supermer and friend Melanie). I arrived at 1:20, hurried into the lobby, announced myself, and said that I was running late. The receptionist replied that no, I wasn't, because the witness, a surgeon, had canceled due to an emergency surgery.
I've not enjoyed working long hours and over the weekends, but I'm looking forward to my next paycheck. I promised myself I wouldn't bring home work over the weekend, but I did. It's not that much, though. And this is my last rush order (for now).
I've noticed that my new dancing addiction has influenced my taste in music. I've been a Harry Connick, Jr., fan for a while, but taking up swing dancing has interested me more in Frank Sinatra, big band, and jazz. I'm now officially a Michael Buble fan (even though I spent several weeks making fun of his name). That boy can sing! And "Fever" is now one of my favorite songs. It is usually played at least once at swing dances at the Durham armory, and I try always to have a partner and dance to it. I like Romeo's line: "Fever, yes, I burn, forsooth!"
Just to let all the guys out there know, dancing is mad attractive. A newly-converted-to-dance friend of mine firebreatherjen has commented that otherwise plain-looking men become attractive when we discover that they are good dancers.
Current Mood: geeky
Current Music: "Fever," Michael Buble
Tags: swing dance, work
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06:11 pm
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An update with no whining (I think)!
Hello, everyone. I do want to make sure that y'all know that my life isn't entirely sad and frustrating. I just haven't had time to write about the nonfrustrating parts, because of the stress and time devoted to the frustrating ones.
Last week, I got to go on my first business trip. When I heard, I felt entirely like a scared little kid getting in way over her head. (Incidentally, isn't that an interesting expression?) There were two depositions in Wilmington (the beach, about three hours away), one at 2:00 Wednesday afternoon and one at 9:00 Thursday morning. So that my boss wouldn't pay for my gas twice, I was to go up and stay at a hotel. The 9:00 deposition was in a Riverside Hilton that cost $160 a night. I didn't think the boss lady would be too happy to reimburse that, so I stayed at a Riverside Best Western for half that (with a AAA discount).
Sadly, no one was able, on twelve-hours notice, to get off work for two days and go to Wilmington with me. So it was kind of sad to be in a pretty place Wednesday afternoon/evening without someone to share it with me. I did, whatever the Hilton may say, have a better view than their guests. Between their windows and the river was a great expanse of parking lot. I was right on the river. It was very pretty from my window in the afternoon and moonlight. After the 2:00 deposition was over, I wondered around downtown a little by myself. I ate the best sandwitch wrap I've ever had, a tuna melt with jalapeno and avocado, a combination I would never have thought of myself. I explored a little independent book shop called the "Two Sisters Bookery" and purchased the third Jasper Fforde book.
The Thursday morning deposition lasted from 9:00 to 5:15. It was the single most massive deposition I have attended. It involved eight attorneys and the deponent, who was himself an attorney. There was 264 pages of exhibits marked.
I ate lunch in the Hilton's restaurant, a neat little buffet. I don't know whether or not it's my imagination, but it seemed as though I was being treated slightly more respectfully, that people were taking me a bit more seriously, because of my clothes. I was wearing a full-out business suit, clothing I have never worn before applying to and becoming a court reporter. I've always felt that my sixteen-year-old-looking face isn't good for being taken seriously, but I thought I sensed that people, attorneys and hotel employees, were treating me more like an adult, even a somewhat important adult. (I'll pretend that it had nothing to do with anyone's mistaking me for an attorney because of my being shut up in a room with the attorneys and being dressed as one.) I've noticed this phenomenon in other settings, too, especially in big, expensive, intimidating attorney's offices with 38 stories and waterfalls in the lobby. I am always glad that I dress up to go to these places. Maybe it's just that I feel more confident. But for whatever reason, I'm more comfortable being in the elevator with other well-dressed business people. They don't know that I probably don't make as much as they.
But I digress.
Yesterday, I had two depositions with one attorney in two different cities. After the first, we had some time to kill, so we went to lunch. He suggested Bill's in Wilson, a piece of local culture that serves traditional North Carolina barbeque and everything that goes with it. (That includes "sweet tea." Only Southeasterners really know what that means.) To my surprise, he paid for me. Then we met up with another attorney from his firm. So, as he told me, I had lunch with half of the firm. I told him it was "the highlight of my week." He seemed surprised that it wasn't the highlight of my life.
Well, I was going to share also about the crazy lady in the next deposition, but I see that I'm running out of time. I have a dinner date. And I have about four hours of deposition to proof, but I promised not to whine.
Current Mood: headachey
Tags: work
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01:49 pm
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Caution: Whining in Progress
Don't say I didn't warn you.
I have worked fifty-three hours this week already, and I'm not finished. I had already planned to take a two-hundred-plus-page deposition home to finish over the weekend. At my Friday-afternoon deposition, which ended after five o'clock, the attorney asked for her certified copy by Tuesday. Of course, by that time, I couldn't get it to a typist to type up over the weekend. So I get to bring home that as well.
Friends told me not to worry about work Friday evening, so we went out to eat and stayed up late watching movies. I awoke at four A.M. on the couch. (Apparently I had refused to get up and go to bed, though I remember nothing of the kind.) I then made it to my bed. I awoke after noon. For those of you who don't know me, I never sleep that late. Sleeping till nine-thirty is a pretty big deal for me. Now I feel as though I've wasted the day, and my guilt complex is setting in on top of my frustration at feeling behind at work. And who knows when I'm going to put away the clothes I washed last weekend, which are still in a nice pile in front of my closet.
You may wonder why I'm bothering to write about my troubles instead of getting to work. Well, I needed sympathy, and what better way is there to reach millions of people at one time with one's woes? Now that I have Internet access, I have another distraction from work, and I intend to make the most of it.
I have decided that I will never become a workaholic. It isn't that I have made a commitment not to do so, it is that I have realized that this tendency is alien to me. I am glad that I am at last working on commission and will get some monetary compensation for the amount of work I'm doing, but I find that it isn't worth it. If I had to choose between the extra commission money I will make and the time I have to spend making it, I would choose the time every time. Working sixty hours a week is most definitely not worth it.
Current Mood: frustrated
Tags: work
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03:55 pm
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Fulfilling?
As I have commented to several friends, I have discovered an apparent inverse relationship between what is predominately viewed as practical and what I find fulfilling.
Lately, I have been spending my days doing things that I'm sure most people I know would consider useful, productive, and practical beyond things I have previously spent days doing. I have been working full-time, cooking my own dinners, running errands, making large (and practical) purchases, filling out forms, and cleaning house. I have been getting lots of "I'm proud of you" comments from family members who may be shocked at my ability to cope in this adult world. But I do not find these things fulfilling.
When I come to the end of a day spent in this way, I don't feel satisfied. I may even have worked less hard than I have on other less practical things (such as my thesis) and had time to relax, talk with roommie supermer, and read or watch a movie. Still, I don't feel accomplished. I don't get the satisfaction I imagine most of my family and other more practical people get on completing such a day. I am doing these practical things only because they are necessary and in the hope that they are temporary. To imagine that these tasks must continue to take all or most of my time for the next forty or more years is quite disheartening and, at the moment at least, almost unbearable.
I didn't feel this lack of satisfaction at school. I loved school. The work might even have been harder and more time-consuming. But having finished it (or handed it in at least), I felt accomplished and much more fulfilled. I felt I had done something valuable. I had enjoyed the work. I had a product I wished to share. The product might lead to more and further discussion/research/analysis. The idea was exciting.
School work was for grades, but that was not, I think, the real reason why I did it. I didn't have to go to school at all. I often pushed myself harder than required to graduate or even to make an A. I liked to push myself in those areas and see my skills develop and learn how better to read, understand, and analyze.
The work I do now I do for money. Nothing interests me in refining my dictation and transcription skills. I will work also to earn my boss's favor and my coworker's good will and the respect of our attorney clients for our services, but these stimuli are not like the personal satisfaction I got from school work. I don't feel interest in the area. I'm not particularly proud of these skills, even if I see them growing. I am not at all interested in the product. It goes to someone else who will use it to try to win money in a court case but has probably no other interest in it whatsoever. I feel not like an excited thinker but like a semi-useful tool. I don't want to be a tool. I want to communicate with others and share my ideas and perhaps inspire them to think.
So, again, we see that this job is no temptation for me to stay in the career world.
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This week has been my annual reading of Jane Eyre. I have restricted myself to a once yearly reading as otherwise I might--no, would overindulge. I have been drawing it out for a good while, but I will probably finish tomorrow.
I marked one comment by Jane that I felt applies to me now more than ever before, one I had always previously passed over, with the intention of noting it here. I have left the book at home, however, and not brought it to Meredith where I must go to get online. When Jane is on her way to Thornfield, she remarks the exciting and frightening feeling of inexperienced youth going off into the wide world. That comment resonated with me on this reading. So did a comment by Helen that she holds for herself a special creed not taught to her by others by believed firmly nevertheless. I know I have a few of those. I don't find their not being shared (or at least publicly expressed) by others at all discrediting to them. They form the bases for some of my most fundamental worldviews and understandings.
I also rented a film version of Jane Eyre in which I planned to indulge after my reading. I managed, however, to draw out the reading so that the film was due back before I had finished. I watched it last night. It was sadly disappointing. The only things I could admire in it were its making Jane young and almost plain-looking enough and the fact that Rochester did look about forty. Everything else was horrid. Even admitting my prejudice for novel-faithful adaptations, this one took unpardonable liberties. Plot-wise, Rochester's gypsy disguise was gone, Jane's uncle John Eyre and his fortune were gone, Jane's aunt's death was merely mentioned. Character-wise, the atrocities were worse. St. John was nice! Blanche Ingram was not haughty and majestic but delicate and simpering. She even liked Adele. Jane was too outspoken. She is supposed to be passionate but not venturesome. Rochester was hardly recognizable. The film left his most obvious faults -- pride, sarcasm, and an inclination to command -- and left out his salient points -- his intelligence, quick wit, sagacity, penetration, and vulnerability. He was commanding, but not seductive. He was all his harshness and sternness without the glimpses of kindness and need. He didn't seem to need Jane at all. He seemed more to want to win her for an exercise of his power. I didn't really like this Rochester, and that's saying quite a bit.
Well, now off to be productive again. I have errands to run.
Current Mood: frustrated
Tags: jane eyre, work
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11:08 pm
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Flirting continues
So today Kathy and I went to take another deposition for the cute, deep-voiced attorney. He seemed happy to see me. We exchanged looks whenever he wasn't questioning (and sometimes when he was). During breaks we talked a lot, though usually with others around. We guaged each other's minds, discussing Latin, Greek, and Biblical scholarship. (This exchange, to me, was the most intimate and meant the most in terms of "I like you." Nerd-flirting, if you will.) Even during the questioning of witnesses, he seemed to slip me information. He managed to get off topic, while on the record with one witness, to inform her and whoever else was listening that he graduated high school in '90, making him about six years older than I. Before we left, he asked when he'd be seeing me again. Sadly, I wasn't able to answer definitely. Kathy isn't scheduled to another deposition for him this week.
I'm not sure what the goal is in the flirting game, when one can say, "I won!" I assumed it would be his asking me for contact information. But he didn't. I was disappointed. Now, however, I realize that it might be partly my fault. As inexperienced a flirt as I am, and as introverted as I am, I didn't help him create an opportunity for us to talk privately. He did seem to hang back for me. He left the conference room before Kathy was packed up, but we still ran into him in the hall. He stood talking in one room until Kathy and I got there. Then he walked out while Kathy was still talking. I should probably have followed him then to wait for Kathy outside, but I was trying to be polite and hold the door for her. So I didn't give him the opportunity, I guess. And no, I never once considered taking the initiative myself. I am certainly not that brave.
I have discovered that I possess the two qualities most antipathetic to flirting: sincerity and self-awareness. A flirt must be able to be insincere and flippant, something I can almost never be. She must also be confident and in the moment. This I will probably never be. I am far too self-conscious. Instead of watching the other person and guaging him, I guage myself. This act both undermines my confidence and pulls me out of the here-and-now perspective a skilled flirt maintains.
So we'll call this a practice run. It was pretty fun.
Tags: flirting, work
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07:34 pm
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Today I flirted with an attorney
Well, I did. And I'm rather proud of myself. After all, aren't I the one who was told I had no flirting talent or know-how whatsoever?
To back up a little and give the scene more context, allow me to explain that the trait most valued by attorneys in a court reporter (right after competence with dictation and verbatim transcribing) is invisibility, the ability to disappear. The court reporter has to be the first one in the room and the last one out of it. She has to set up and sit behind masses of equipment. She has to swear in the witness, put on her mask, and disappear. Though sitting between the deposing attorney and the witness, she must be invisible.
At a previous deposition, one attorney (not the one with whom I flirted today) complimented me on my ability to disappear. He meant it. I wondered how good this job would be for my psyche.
But today's deposing attorney was young and cute. He's quite tall and has a deep voice, probably a baritone. (I recognized his voice as I've typed up some of his depositions.) Kathy, the court reporter I'm observing, had introduced me to everyone right away. I'm not really sure who started it. I noticed him and looked at him a lot. During the first break, he remembered my name and said "Hi." Then He said "Hi" to everyone else as an afterthought. During the deposition, I would catch his eye and smile and look away. I was feeling rather giggly, a rare feeling indeed for me. Once he asked me why I was smiling, and I responded that I like peoplewatching. He asked how long I had lived in Fayetteville, and I had to disappoint him by telling him I live in Raleigh.
Alright, I know that my idea of flirting is probably a lot more subtle than others'. But even Kathy noticed, saying that he seems to like me a lot. It's a good thing, as he's one of our regular clients. And tomorrow, I'm going with Kathy to take another one of his depositions.
Too bad Pace's business cards don't have my phone number on them.
Tags: flirting, work
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01:26 pm
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Marjorie's wedding, my first deposition
So Marjorie's wedding was beautiful. There were quite a number of travesties, but none of them affected the actual ceremony. It started with the airline's losing my suitcase on my flight there so that Marjorie and I had to go to Wal-Mart to buy an outfit for me to wear to her bachelorette party. On the big day, the hairdresser was an hour late (she had five women's hair to fix); one bridesmaid ran out of formula for her child and had to go buy some more; she, another bridesmaid, and some groomsmen got stuck in a car with a flat tire; and there was torrential rain and flooding. However, we did manage to get Marjorie married. I can't begin to say how beautiful she looked or how happy she and James seemed to be. I don't know that I've ever seen her smile so much.
Nicole, another bridesmaid and Marjorie's college roommate, was a blast. She and I had met previously, but we really hit it off the before the wedding. We decided that being a McBride bridesmaid is the best job in the world. Marjorie picked out lovely dresses to flatter both of us. We got presents every time we attended any function. Everything was planned, and we had only to show up. We had very little responsibility and very much fun. It's also great to be a bridesmaid and have the fun of teasing the bride and groom who have no way of responsing in kind.
Sadly, I had to return to Raleigh. I started full-time court reporter work on Thursday. I spent my first day working on a combination written/audio course on the use of the stenomask. This is an old course. One of the exercises was to take the dictation of a case in which the witness, a Mrs. Smith, spoke of waking up in the middle of the night to find her husband's bed empty and un-slept-in. Did you know that husband's and wives had separate beds before the seventies? Anyway, it is quite monotonous, and I still have quite a bit to go.
On Friday I went with another court reporter to observe my first deposition. While getting dressed up smartly and driving to Smithfield was interesting, listening to old white men argue about whose fault it is that wet insulation caused mold in a manufactured home and about the legal expert status of a home inspector was not. I didn't know what to think when one of the old, white attorneys walked in, saw the court reporter and myself, and said, "We have two pretty girls!" Was I supposed to act bashful and say "Thank you" or stand up for the dignity of my position?
When I am doing the court reporting myself, I will have to bring my own Bible with which to swear in witnesses. I wonder if I have one official-looking enough. My Meredith KJV Bible is leather-bound and has gilded pages, but it also has the Meredith seal on the front. Some people, I am told, won't swear for religious reasons. In that case, I would have to "affirm" them. And I wonder, may an atheist refuse to swear, or does one have to profess religious beliefs to be allowed to refuse on religious grounds?
I have made another Myers-Briggs convert. I sent my sister Rachel a copy of the David Keirsey book for her birthday, and she's hooked. She has tested as an ISFP. All my family are Ss. How did an N like me get in there? And I've wondered for some time now whether M-B traits, particularly S or N, are somewhat hereditary. Are N parents more likely to have N children? If so, is it hereditary or environmental? David Keirsey seems to think these traits inborn. I know some families I would classify as all Ns. Hmmm.
Happy Independence Day!
Current Mood:  good
Current Music: Moulin Rouge "Tango de Roxanne"
Tags: marjorie, myers-briggs, work
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08:00 pm
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A surreal day
I realized this last weekend that I was ready to begin regular work of some kind because the weekend seemed the same as every day that week. It wasn't a relaxing time in comparison to the weekdays. The errands I had to run did not even have the benefit of being significantly different from the work I'd been doing all week and therefore seeming like a break in monotony if in nothing else. So I went to work today. I spent my first day transcribing.
Everyone is very nice. I had a post-it note from another Meredith graduate -- class of '76 -- who will be my trainer in July. She has a daughter less than one year younger than I. Weird. The other employees are all nice and all female. I wondered at the court reporter literature that said "The court reporter will check it herself" (emphasis mine). I am in a very sexist job. My boss has a 23-year-old son. I think we should meet.
And, to top of a rather unusual day, I got a call on my cell phone from my mom who was at the hospital waiting for my second nephew to be born. My sister was in labor when she called. Mom said she'd call me back, and I haven't heard anything yet. I hope Meredith and Isaac are okay.
The network doesn't seem to be working at the Webb/Rose house where I'm housesitting, so I am typing this entry in the Meredith library. It was surreal to walk back onto this campus and to know how unlikely it would be for me to see anyone I know. It's surreal to by typing here. One reason I came, besides my internet addiction, is because I was horrified to discover myself planning my evening around a television show. No! I will not sit at home waiting for a television show. I refuse. This evening in the library is part penance for that inclination. How can the TV begin to weild such power over me when I haven't watched television in four years? It simply boggles the mind. (No, I will not say which show. That would be too humiliating.)
On the whole: a surreal day. New job with self-scheduled hours (for this month). Birth (yet?) of new nephew about whose existence I learned less than a week ago. Discovery of the black seduction of television. Typing away in the library of the school from which I graduated less than a month ago.
I win.
Tags: work
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