Just a couple degrees...

Yes, it is finally getting to be fall-ish, and deliciously cold here, but I am talking the six degrees kind of degrees, because the guy from whom I bought a lovely little writing desk today via Craigslist is an actor. How fun!

(And the desk is really nice.)

I went to the P'kpsy country house yesterday, where The Ringleted One and I bought some excellent thrift store furniture, enjoyed a meal made wonderful by the company and the super awesome sake-vodka-lime-cucumber-tini (very refreshing), admired some very pretty chef boys in drag at the CIA (Culinary Institute, a.k.a. Hogwarts for chefs), washed the dog, and even squeezed in a mini hike through the beautiful woods of the Hudson Valley. I was sad to come back to the city today.

I've mentioned before some family stuff that has been extremely upsetting to me; after discussing it with BC, The Ringleted One, and Double M, the consensus seems to be that I need to set some internal boundaries on how much I let this stuff upset me, because it's making me so deeply unhappy. This is the advice I would give myself, and it's good advice. So why do I feel so unsatisfied with it? Like I've failed?

Just thinking about it makes me want to cry.

No doubt this has much to do with my fancy new bed from Macy's (which still needs to DIE). After all the annoyance of getting it delivered, I wake up every morning with a grimace, because my back hurts! Pain during sleep = poor quality of sleep = less rest than this hk needs = craptastic outlook on life. Sigh. Gotta scope out a new bed. I hate shopping, but it must be done.

Return to the Waldorf

I spent 10 weeks in the summer before my junior year of college interning in the Silver Department of Christie's, the New York art auction house, and one of the first things I did that summer was go to an auction held at the famed Waldorf Astoria Hotel. A handful of us girls, in our nice college-y cocktail dresses, stood at evenly spaced intervals between the tables of New York high society. Our job was to get the attention of the auctioneer if he seemed to be overlooking someone raising a hand near us.

When I think about it now, I think of what a strange task it was, what a remarkably servient position to be in for me and my fellow college students. More than servient, it was silly. Why would the auctioneer be able to see me and the other interns better than someone raising their hand? Some of those interns were majoring in art history, were practicing scholarship in a nascent, youthful way, and had come to Christie's for the summer eager to learn more about art. And this is what they were being asked to do -- look pretty for the show. (Which has its purpose and reason, I will concede.)

However I feel about it now, at the time, being asked to go to the fabled and historic Waldorf Astoria, symbol of all that was rich and unreachable, was brilliantly exciting. I felt a part of that rich and unreachable world; its glamour and sophistication gilded me and gave the night a dizzying feeling of romance. I was dazzled.

Tonight I went back to the Waldorf Astoria for the first time since that night of standing awkwardly between tables of gentry in my ill-fitting black cocktail dress. This time I went as a representative from my firm, which had bought a multi-thousand dollar table at a charity event honoring one of its own -- a female litigation partner. I had a seat. True, I was filling in because someone had dropped out the day before, but -- I had a seat.

I happened to be seated between one of the managing partners of my firm and another litigation partner. The managing partner is shrewd in looks and in fact, quick and crisp in his thinking, courteous in demeanor, and skilled at debate. For some reason, I told him what the dean of the law school (he also went to Crimson, albeit 30 years ago) said in her welcome speech: "The competition is over. You've won."

He thought that over, and asked, "Do you agree with that?"

I thought it over too, and said, "Yes... I do."

"You hesitated," he observed. "Why?"

"I think," I began, trying to work out my thoughts into speech, "that in the socio-economic lottery, we did win. So in that sense the audience she was speaking to was all winners." I paused, and asked him, "Why? Do you agree?"

"Well, in one sense we are never winners, because there's always more to achieve." He explained that this kind of thinking might breed complacency.

"But shouldn't there be a point where you stop and say, 'I'm content here'?" I asked. "That's not necessarily stopping --"

"How can that not involve stopping?"

I considered that and agreed that it couldn't. "But that's not necessarily a bad thing."

"I didn't say it was."

"Yes, but the tone of your comments implied that it was."

He recapitulated. "Yes, that's true." But the point, he said, was that we'd lose out on a lot of achievement if people were complacent.

"Maybe your contentment is in the striving, then," I suggested. I further ruminated, "Maybe it's the motivation that counts. If you're going after excellence for the sake of excellence, maybe the striving can lead to personal happiness, whereas if you're doing something for the prestige, it's not so happy..."

"Why not?" he asked. "If prestige is what you want, why shouldn't that make you happy when you strive for it?"

I reconsidered again. "You're right," I said. I had been making a value judgment.

We chewed in silence for a moment, and then I said, "This reminds me of that line, 'Greed is good.'"

"Yes," the partner answered, "that's a very crude version of what I'm saying." He started sayinng that he had gone to law school at a time when going there was considered selling out, probably in an attempt to explain why he sounded so Gordon Gecko-ish, but the awards presentation began, and conversation stopped.

It was an interesting exchange, and one I wished we could have continued. I thought about it as people lauded each other, and I think now that there were several things we were glossing over that were quite important in understanding each other's view: What "achievements" were we talking about, and who did they benefit? As he put it, prestige and excellence often go together, but less so when the excellence is in the area of serving the public.

But say prestige and excellence are equally valid motivators. Then perhaps the biggest crime under his world view was not being committed enough to any motivating factor to strive. To fall into something and do it just because it's convenient, it's easy.

He essentially did say that, mentioning that he had fallen into law almost accidentally when he discovered that he disliked the meticulous lab work that would have been necessary to continue in his college specialty. Fortunately, he likes his job, but if there ever was a time when he woke up and dreaded going to work, he would stop.

Perhaps it was friendly advice, given that I had told him that I had fallen into law also. Or maybe he was just saying how he really felt. I couldn't help but think of the partner on my other side, who had three weeks ago told me at dinner that he thinks of an exit strategy every day, and that he was not sure if it was worth it.

The rest of the evening saw a lot of laudatory comments traded between people who have done well for themselves and for the community. There were a number of close relationships exposed in the awarding of the community service honors -- the mayor spoke, and his companion (because it's too gauche to say girlfriend?) got an award; a father gave an award to his daughter; and a husband-wife couple were individually honored for their work in legal services. I got a back ache from twisting in my seat to watch the awards presented between friends, lovers, family.

The moment the awards were done, two litigation partners sprinted out the door without even saying farewell, presumably to work. I exchanged a pleasantry with the managing partner. And then I myself walked out of the Waldorf Astoria with a fifth year associate in litigation, a pretty blonde woman who said she liked going to charity dinners because it was a good way to meet others in the firm and in the legal community.

"After a while, you get to know everyone there," she said. "And some day it's going to be us. Our law school classmates will be at those tables, and getting those awards."

"Yes," I said slowly. "I suppose it will be." After we parted ways, I walked the rest of the way back to my studio, wondering if I really am now part of that gilded crowd I stood so awkwardly amongst when I was 19, awed and ill at ease. Was my return to the Waldorf tonight truly a symbol of my entree into that world?

If so, I am -- for good or bad -- no longer so dazzled. But I am -- for good or bad -- still ill at ease.
(23/730)

Weekend report

Friday was interesting at work. The partner in the group, who had been gone for most of the time I've been around, came back on Friday. He called a last-minute lunch meeting, causing at least three people to change their plans, and then was 30 minutes late to it himself, which was kind of annoying. The group started playing Pictionary with the posterboard in the conference room while we were waiting. It was funny.

After eating the catered food, we did a quick review of who was working on what. It's slow these days, as I mentioned before. I don't think there's much of a chance of the firm letting people go, but who knows? It's been known to happen during recessions, and there's been a lot of talk about recessions lately.

After the meeting, the partner came back with comments on an agreement, and said, "I'd like for you to put these edits in, send it out, negotiate with this guy, and finish the deal."

I almost said, "You're kidding, right?" but caught myself and asked, "Uh... how do I do that?"

He went through the edits and explained them. I asked a question or two. He left. I looked at my officemate and said, "I just can't believe I'm expected to negotiate and finish the deal!"

"That's the Firm way," she said.

Which is kind of cool, in that it's challenging and not document monkey work, but kind of terrifying. What the hell do I know about transactions and bargaining? This isn't about taking out a comma and putting a semicolon instead. It's, like, really dealing with the parties on the deal. There's no reason why I should know how to this. It's not common sense stuff.

On the other hand, the partner explained it all out and it makes sense to me. So I wrote up notes to myself, put in the edits, and... sent it to a senior associate for review, mostly because the partner forgot something and said, "Oh, just put something in there about that. And add in a time limit." Hi, I don't know nuthin' about nuthin'. Have some mercy here.

Whatev. The senior associate observes Saturday sabbath, so he couldn't review it that day, which meant I left at 6 and went for a long run in the gym. (Too long. Ow.)

The Ringleted One and the Bacon came into the city for the weekend, so I had my first overnight human and canine guests. As usual, The Ringleted One showed me many fine sights, including, in the Village: a great Thai restaurant, the most perfect bookstore, a hilarious logo of the NYC bomb squad, and Rice to Riches, a kooky, irreverent place that sells only rice pudding. We also discovered, in the course of our wanderings around my neighborhood, a wonderful and hidden dog park and a totally rando footbridge over the east side highway and right down to the East River that had a marvelous view of the old smallpox hospital on Roosevelt Island, a spooky-looking castle-type building that is majestically lit up and falling apart. I must admit, New York has its moments.

Mrs. Esq. asked me a good question last week: what happens after the 730 days? Damn good question. The answer? I don't know. But something. Not just the same stuff. Something. BC said tonight that these two years would be useful and good for me in more than just a paying-off-the-loans type of goodness. Unpacking my crap, wandering around the city, reconnecting with my adultness -- I feel like I'm airing out long-forgotten clothing that are a little out of style, but are still beautiful. They might have to be altered here and there to fit the current me, but I'm looking forward to wearing them again.
(21/730)

Breaking

I really thought it would be my job that broke me down this year, and there's still a good chance that it will (though it's been very quiet since Monday). But I've been sitting here in my studio late on a Thursday night and sobbing for the last 10 minutes not because of my job but because of my family.

I received an email two weeks ago from my aunt and uncle, to whom I used to be so close, saying that they weren't speaking to my mother -- my aunt's sister -- anymore. So I called them and badgered them into coming out to New York for Thanksgiving, learning along the way that they'd been pretty depressed, no doubt in part because of this feud that has now apparently started between them and my mother.

My mother. Sigh. After discussing strategy with bigbro about what situation would be less awkward, I emailed her (she no longer has a phone -- I suspect because my uncle used to pay for it and is no longer doing so; see Feud, above) to invite her out for Christmas, despite the anticipated simultaneous visit of my father and grandmother, because it seemed the lesser of the two evils (see Grandmother and Mother, Ancient Feud between).

Well. My mother won't come out for Christmas. And for some reason, although I had not been consciously thinking about this at all, that was the last straw. I'm so tired of trying to be understanding, diplomatic, encouraging, communicative, mediative -- and most of all, of feeling like I'm the only one trying.

No one asked me to be the peacemaker. That was a duty I took on myself, because when I went to Korea (and even before then), I saw how much I had missed having a father, having a family. The years in which I didn't speak to my parents, when I was so angry at both of them, were so ... dark. No. Not dark. Just less bright. A constant pallor over everything, but so constant that I took it to be the natural state of things. Life was a little empty, a little lonely, a little gray. That was life.

But it didn't have to be! It doesn't have to be! That's the voice that prods me to keep trying, even when it's so tempting to turn away, shut down, remove myself from the situation. It's so much easier to ignore it and sink myself into the easy pleasures of material comforts and friends. I want so much, so, so much to ignore that voice. To tell it to shut up, because I can't control how people behave, or take on responsibility for other people's relationships, and that I will drive myself crazy or ill with trying to make things better, because they never will. My mother will continue to be resentful and bitter about the things she lost, and continue to be frightened and distrustful of people because she's been burned. My aunt and uncle will continue to be naive and be directed by their immediate feelings, continue to convince themselves that they aren't very valuable to me or bigbro, continue to sink deeper into their tiny world, continue to convince themselves that they can't do anything except what old people do. My dad will continue to be a charming disaster of a businessman, continue to cite Buddhist aphorisms instead of trying to patch rifts he created long ago.

And I will continue too -- continue drifting/searching/seeking/wandering aimlessly, always vaguely dissatisfied, always waiting for something to happen instead of directing my own life, always deferring pleasures because of some inexplicable guilt that haunts me. I will continue to feel frustrated and angry because I can't fix my family problems, but be unable to quit trying. God, it's almost enough to make me laugh through the tears. How can I expect others to change when I can't even change myself?

But the thing is -- I did change. I was bitter and resentful and angry with my parents, and punished them and myself by cutting off all communication with them -- and I stopped doing that. My ex-boyfriend helped me, and my shrinks helped me, and my friends helped me, and I stopped being a brat and started trying to deal with the problem.

So ... why? You know what I'm saying. Why can't they also stop doing whatever it is that is unhelpful and unproductive? And why can't I stop being so bothered by their inability to do so?

Because it can be better. The world! Our planet! Our country! Our lives! But if we can't even stop sabotaging ourselves and our relationships with those closest to us, how can anything ever get better?

Spent

I completed something today and sent it out, which was a mighty good feeling. And then I went home, and that was also a good feeling. And then I had a super fantastico conversation with Miss D for a long while, and that was a super good feeling. And then I added up my expenses this month so far, including the bed from the store that must DIE, and that was not such a good feeling.

I want to put half of my take-home pay toward my loan this year, which leaves a quarter for rent and a quarter for living expenses -- which totally should be enough. I've already spent 75% of my living expenses for the month, which shouldn't happen again so fast, since I'm not going to buy a bed every month. But I've got to put off my other major furniture purchases until next month to stay in budget.

I'm serious, dude! I am way way serious about the loan payments. And if I have to eat cereal for dinner for the rest of this month, it's just going to have to be that way. Eh, I probably would have eaten it for dinner anyway.
(16/730)

A day of many firsts

1. First paycheck. About 80 dollars less than what I estimated, which is kinda sad, since I calculated for a 40% total tax on my wages. Ouch. The Man, his brother NY State, and his cousin NY City take pretty big cuts.

But still. It's bigger than any other biweekly check I've ever gotten in my life. And that's what counts.

2. First dinner on the firm.

Okay, not really, because two weeks ago there were about 3 dinners on the firm during orientation. But tonight was dinner on the firm billed to an actual client.

Sushi, tempura and miso soup. Tasty, but my stomach didn't take too kindly to it. Besides coffee, water, hot chocolate and a granola bar, it was the only thing I ate today. I really gotta get better with the food thing.

3. First late night at the firm.

I'm putting together a summary of certain rights that certain parties have in certain agreements. It doesn't sound hard, and it shouldn't be. Yet it took 9 hours and I'm still not done. Part if it is the incredibly stilted, horribly picky detailed phrasing known as legalese. AGH. I hate it.

I'm not familiar with the docs or the deal, so I'm slow, but I'm trying my best. I'm not efficient, but it's not entirely my fault.

Then why do I feel like I haven't done a very good job? Boo. The senior associate who gave me the assignment told me to go home at 10:15, but I stayed until 11:30 trying to organize my tasks for tomorrow. Somehow, everything takes longer than I think it should.

4. First car service home.

The firm provides car service home if you work past 8:30. It's nice. I was tired. But it might have been good to walk off the day, you know? I'm going to try to keep the car service nights to a minimum.

This next thing is not in the Firsts category or even in the Happenings of Today category, but I remembered it today. I met a woman my age yesterday at Fearless T's -- she was the girlfriend of T's cousin -- who works for a trade publication as a writer.

This woman worked for a thinktank in DC right out of college, then as an editor in a publishing company in NY for a couple years before going to journalism school. Publishing wasn't as rewarding as she thought it would be, and "there's always someone willing to do your job for cheaper," she said. She dislikes her current job because there's no room to grow, and is looking for another, but it's a hard time for print publications.

"If you have to have a boring job," she said, after I told her about my job woes, "you may as well get paid well."

I've been mourning the path not taken. But talking to this woman, whose career trajectory could so easily have been mine, made me wonder if I would have found myself in the same unfulfilled place even if I had pursued writing jobs right out of college. Maybe it's all just another case of the grass on the other side? It's so easy to romanticize that other path, when really it's as full of brambles and as choked with weeds as the one you're on.

But then, what can bring meaning to life?
(15/730)

hk is a lazy-ass quitter!

On Saturday, I went out to find a new pair of glasses with Joiner. We found a place that takes my insurance and a very knowledgeable sales person started handing me glasses. Five pairs in, I was ready to give up.

“Oh, I'll never find a pair that fit me and that look good. I’ll just get updated lenses for these,” I told Joiner, indicating the frames I got in Seoul three years go.

“You can’t just give up now!” she exclaimed. “We’ve only looked at a couple!”

I do this all the time -- decide that I need something or other, go out looking for it, and give up about 5 seconds into the process. Glasses, jeans, shoes, suits, haircuts -- if it's not right there, right now, at the right price, I get discouraged really fast and I say, "Ah, forget it."

I am such a quitter!

I started thinking about other things I do that might be a little... weird. You know when there's nothing in the house to heat and you're hungry? A normal response might be one of any of the following:
- Calling for pizza.
- Going out to the grocery store.
- Going to a restaurant.
- Asking a loved one to bring you food.

What is probably not normal:
- Rooting through the pantry, finding a long-forgotten packet of noodles with no flavor packet, wondering if it would taste okay with some soy sauce on top, deciding it maybe would, boiling it and putting aforementioned soy sauce on it, tasting it and thinking it pretty nasty but edible, and eating it for dinner.
- Need I put another example?

Yes. I am so lazy! I am a lazy quitter. What is wrong with me? It's like I'm totally incapable of providing the basic necessities for myself. Joiner chastised me: "hk! You need to go buy some food! Do you still have enough toilet paper?" (She went with me the first day I was in my apartment to go buy some.)

"Um," I said, "J1 bought some for me."

I was telling my discovery to Fearless T today, with whom I spent the afternoon after a bagel brunch with MattSal (it was a very Upper West Side kind of day), and she thought out loud, "There must be some other factor. I mean, you didn't quit school, right?"

I wonder. A certain amount of inertia is natural, but there's inertia and then there's crazy ass inertia, to the point where I won't stop what I'm doing even when I want to do something else. It's almost debilitating. An hk at home, unless compelled by an appointment or work, tends to stay at home. An hk walking, even when a bus pulls up right beside her, tends to keep walking (all 52 streets and 7 avenues back home today from West 103rd Street). An hk at work, unless someone suggests going to get food, tends to just sit at her desk through lunch and not eat -- even when she's really hungry! Is this normal?

The food thing is probably the worst. I do need glasses, but I can get by with my contact lenses, although they are uncomfortable to wear at work for long periods of time. But I've been weird about food the past several weeks, probably starting when I was looking for apartments last month. For a couple days in a row then, I wouldn't eat until I was almost faint with hunger, around 3 in the afternoon. On Thursday of last week, the first day of work where lunch wasn't provided for us, I didn't eat until someone told me about the free food in the pantry from a meeting. On Friday, I just didn't eat lunch.

Is it laziness? Agoraphobia? Am I developing an eating disorder? Fear of ... delis?

My last shrink would probably shrug and say, "I don't know. But let's change the pattern of behavior. The next time you deny yourself food because you don't want to leave whatever place you're in, identify that action to yourself. Then go out and get food." Which is, I guess, what I will do. But ... man. I weird myself out sometimes.
(14/730)

Two weeks down, 102 to go!

The mishmash:

1. Ironic, isn't it, that getting my apartment together is causing me more stress than my job right now. And all because Macy's has horrible customer service. On Tuesday, the service rep outright lied and said she'd taken care of the certificate of insurance my building needs before you can move furniture in. On Thursday, I call the property manager to confirm and she says nope! No certificate! I spend an hour trying to get Macy's to send it, and the rep finally assures me it will be faxed later that night or first thing Friday morning. On Friday, I get a call at 2:30 saying that the driver is running late and will be there between 4:45 and 6. My building doesn't allow moving after 5 pm on weekdays -- which I told Macy's five different ways. So -- no bed. Die, Macy's, DIE!

2. I left work at 5 pm today, but I could have left at 4. Ah, the joys of working in a group where the senior-most associates both observe Saturday sabbath!

3. Spent most of today checking cross references in 3 different documents. Document monkeys, that's what they should put on our business cards.

4. Had dinner with Joiner at a French place on the Upper West Side -- muy tasty.

5. Went to a concert of 15th century love songs sung by a couple, one of whom played the lute. Late medieval music! Whoo! It was in St. Ignatius of Antioch Church, and the woman wore a velvet dress, and there was a rose and a goblet of water on the dais. Weird! Cheesy! But toward the end of the concert, I started appreciating the control and artistry of the singing, and the atmospheric venue. How awesome is it that New York has all these old churches and historic sites scattered around town? I do love me that old stuff.

6. DIE, Macy's, DIE!!!
(12/730)

Work is not fun

That's why they call it work, you know. I was reminded of this when I found myself reading a sentence for the fifth or sixth time because it was incomprehensible legal jargon, which I hate. And I get to read it all day! Whee!

I was placed on a deal yesterday, but thanks to lack of communication, I have no idea if I'm supposed to be managing it or what. On the one hand, another senior associate reviewed my edits and made a lot of changes I would not have known to make (and am not sure the partner wanted to see, to be frank), but clearly didn't want to stay on the deal. On the other hand, the original senior associate said she didn't want to see the edits and to show them directly to the partner. So I did. Whatever.

I talked to Empress Ro tonight, who found New York depressing the first few months he lived here last year. "Get out," he advised. "Don't stay in your apartment, because you'll just get depressed." It reminded me of what BC used to say: "You're not going to meet anyone new if you just stay in your apartment. And if you do, you'd probably better run away!"
(11/730)

First real day of work

After checking my email and twiddling my thumbs for half an hour after I got in, I wandered around the department and asked people for work. I mean, what was I supposed to do, sit there and surf the web all day? That was last summer, dear.

Everyone said things were pretty quiet this week, so I got a kind of make-work assignment from an associate at first. It involved looking through some leases and amendments dating back fifty years, which was kind of cool.

Then the group took me out to lunch to a place where Brian Williams, the NBC anchor, walked in and then walked out 5 minutes later. I had the Kobe hamburger; it was tasty. The group was chatty; I was quiet. Everyone seems very smart and very nice.

After lunch, I got a real assignment that involved revising an agreement from another deal (a precedent) to conform with the details of a new deal. They were very similar, but it took me about 3 hours to read through the document and make sure I hit everything. When I turned in my results to the senior associate, she asked me, "You're done already?" which makes me nervous, but only because she makes me a little nervous. I think she's the only one in the group whose judgment would come out harsh.

That's what makes this so frustrating. Three years of school and 30 years of life experience, and I have no idea how to do anything. Everything depends on other people showing me what to do. And I can't figure it out intuitively -- nothing about corporate law is intuitive! I tried my best today, but I could have gotten it all wrong. Or I could have gotten it all right! I just don't know, and that sucks.

Dinner: a tiny carton of raspberries, which nevertheless cost $4, and some cereal. Mm. Raspberries.
(10/730)

Summer camp is over!

New York has had a spell of unusually warm, muggy weather, reaching into the mid-eighties over the past few days.

Today, it broke. I walked to work comfortably attired in a skirt and sleeveless top; by the time I left the office (6:30), it was cool enough to feel that my wool cardigan wasn't enough protection from the breeze. And tonight, it poured rain.

Thus endeth the summer. Thus endeth too the summer camp that was training and orientation.
Yes, finally the endless computer training and introductions to various practice groups and support services ended, and I am GLAD. Enough with the sitting and listening. I want to do something, even if it is reading leases. (Really?) (Um... yeah. I think so.) (Thus giving more credence to the old saying about the grass on the other side.)

After training came to its (rather unceremonious) end, I went to my office and did some administrative chores, during which I finally met the partner of the group, who seems nice enough. I also met the last group member, whom I didn't meet yesterday, and observed a pretty nice dynamic among four of the associates in the department. The group is very female-heavy -- there are six women and two men, plus a male paralegal. No one appears to be overly pushy or aggressive, except possibly one of the senior associates. I'm crossing my fingers that my first impression of the department -- a favorable one -- remains so.

Am still unpacking, unpacking, unpacking. Came home and put away my summer clothes, making my big suitcase disappear from the living area, plus another cardboard box that contained my rice cooker and humidifier. I am getting heartily sick of finding places to put things, putting things away, cleaning things, and breaking down boxes. Too many things! Everyone who's seen the amount of stuff I have says I don't have much, but to me it seems like entirely too much stuff.

God, I'm exhausted. I've got to get to bed at a decent hour -- got up at 7:30 this morning to get to the Social Security Administration by 8:30 to get a replacement SS card, which I need to get my NY driver's license. That's not very early, but it's early enough for me! Fortunately, NY lawyers' hours run more typically from 9:30/10 in the morning.

I wonder what my first assignment will consist of tomorrow? I'm a little nervous. But mostly I'm tired.
(721)

Second Monday

About two hours of substantive lecturing today about my group, of which I understood very little, since it was mostly on the structures of the complex financing that goes into these real estate deals. Sigh.

However, title reports (title insurance companies produce these as part of the insurance a buyer or seller may purchase in order to insure themselves against competing claims on the title and other bad things) and surveys sound fun! It's always more jolly when there are actual objects in contention.

Tonight - two more containers emptied out. I rediscovered plates and glasses and dishes I haven't seen for 5 years, including some pieces from my and One-Armed Maggie's 1999 trip to an ecumenical retreat in the Burgundy region of France, and a goblet that my closest friends in college got me in our senior year. Also freed Buffalo Bill, a stuffed buffalo from Yellowstone I used to take with me to class in high school, and Moose Malloy, a stuff moose I got ... damn. I forgot where I got Moose. Sigh again. The aged must be forgiven for spotty memories.

(722)

Anthropology & Archeology

It was a weekend to be grateful for family. Bigbro and J1 came down from the CT and outfitted me with essentials from the 'burbs ranging from Target toiletries to IKEA bookcases. Bigbro and I went out to the uncharted territories beyond Manhattan (Jersey City and Elizabeth) to Macy's, Bed Bath & Beyond, and IKEA for a full, terrifying day of shopping along with the masses and doing our part to propel the global economy. And then he put together my enormous bookcase. And it was good to have family here.

I bought a bed, a bookcase, a microwave, 4 chairs, a shoerack, a dishrack, and a plethora of other things yesterday, all of which were necessary and helpful, but for right now, the bookcase is the best and most helpful of them all. Flat surfaces on which to put my crap! Yay!

While bigbro was masterfully and speedily assembling the bookcase, I got a lesson in NY apartment living -- about 30 minutes into it (8:30 pm on a Saturday night), I heard a knock at the door. "Who is it?" I called out. No answer. I got up to take a look and saw no one through the peephole, but then noticed a sheet of paper had been slipped under the door.

It was a many-copied form document titled "To the residents of [ ]... Please, keep quiet!" This text followed: "Everyone living in an apartment building in New York knows that silence can be hard to come by. The soundproofing is often very poor, but it should not be impossible to find peace and quiet. It will only take a little consideration and co-operation by the residents. We with that everyone in our building would be considerate of their neighbors. New York City apartment rules and regulations are easy to follow."

Ten rules were laid out, and my neighbor had helpfully put a red arrow and underlined #9: "Positively no hammering or construction work in the evenings."

To which I say, "Ah, screw you."

I'm sensitive to noise, and I would have been bothered by the hammering, yes. But to drop a note like that and not face the culprit? Not classy. I didn't get to apologize, which I would have, or explain that (1) I didn't know this was a rule; (2) it would only last 15 minutes longer (thanks to bigbro's speediness); and (3) this was a one-time occurrence that was only happening now because we had limited time this weekend to put the bookcase together.

But I didn't get to do that. So I'm explaining it to you. Because when someone judges you, it's hard to not feel like, Hey! I'm a good person. You don't even know me!

After a marathon day of spending (it hurts me), assembling (yay, bigbro!) and Indian food delivery (mm, tasty), I almost went straight to bed. But it seemed wrong to let that bookcase just sit empty. So I finally opened up one of the 6 storage containers I had in Mr. H's basement for five years, and continued today clearing them out.

Wow. Such a time capsule. Everything in there is what I valued five years ago, clearing out of Our Nation's Capital: the books, the pictures, the knicknacks, the memories. I looked through albums of college and DC photos, marveled at the books I read so long ago, and smiled over small mementos and gifts from the places and people in my life then.

It's a little startling to be reminded in such visceral form of who you used to be. I ran across a series of five watercolors I did from paintings that struck my fancy in various museums I had gone to. (I used to be artistic!) (Or tried, anyway.) My piano and saxophone and guitar books and sheet music are still in good shape. (I used to play music!) Shortly before I left DC, I somehow acquired a full set of bakeware (perhaps a freebie from my credit card company?), because I loved making complicated cakes at The Ringleted One's house. (I used to bake!) There's a stack of books by Langston Hughes, Richard Wright and other Harlem Renaissance writers sitting on my IKEA bookcase now. (I used to be interested in history!) And of course, there are a lots of memories of John: the dress and shoes I wore to his base's formal, the pictures of him at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, the Dancing Hamster. (The Dancing Hamster, by the way, doesn't dance anymore. Which somehow is very fitting.)

Most of these things I had forgotten I owned, and it was with mixed feelings that I drew them out of containers. Some people look forward and go full tilt ahead, with little time wasted on sentiment for the past. I look back. I remember wistfully, I wonder what might have been. I mourn the disappearance of the person I used to be.

This blog is the record of how I changed since then. I started it shortly after I landed in Korea, five years ago, and I've been pretty faithful about keeping it updated with the minutia. I'm happy with the ways in which I've changed, and I'm still working on the things that I haven't changed and would like to. Change is good; we can't remain static and grow. But it's good to be reminded of where we started. Even if it's with some melancholy.

(723)

1 week down, 103 to go!

It turns out that being forced to listen to people natter on about subjects you don't care about (swaps and derivatives -- ack! shoot me now!) or that have no relation to your practice area (NY civil procedure -- why? why? why? when there are only 3 out of 40 associates going into litigation?), kinda makes you want to actually start work. Which might be the whole point of training.

Despite the boredom (and without laptops, we couldn't even surf the web!), Week 1 was fine. I learned a thing or two, made a new friend, banged up my knee, got sick from exhaustion, and ended the week over drinks and appetizers with alums from a Big 10 school, one of whom I was genuinely sad to see leave (he's going back to the Hong Kong office).

Tomorrow: bigbro and J1 come to visit my place! (and help me furnish it). It being potentially the only free weekend I'll have for the next 103 weeks, I will have to be efficient and productive.

4 days down, plus one hk

The day started unauspiciously when I tripped on something crossing my street and fell down on all fours, tearing my pants and bloodying up my knee. I thought then that it was not a good sign, and I was right; halfway through the morning, I started feeling like I needed to lie down, and during the "Capital Markets: A-Z" session, I was the most unresponsive and resentful member of
the teams we were broken into for exercises in securities regulation.

I went home at lunch, skipping the meal they reserved for us, and have been pretty prone since. Sigh. Everything hurts.

727 days to go: BFFs

In the morning of this, the third day of training, I had this blasphemous thought during a session on legal research sources: You know, I'd kind of like to start working. I want to see what it's like. And I'm sick of sitting and listening to people.

Soon enough, my pretty! And your little dog, too!

On an unrelated topic, when did the term BFF (Best Friends Forever) come back into vogue? My workplace BFF is shaping up to be Elo, an optimistic, down-to-earth, charmingly neurotic Jewish girl from Colorado. We worked in London together a few weeks and she was definitely my favorite summer associate there, so I was pleased to find her pleased that I was in New York.

I was sitting on Elo's table during a break, eating her grapes, when a member of custodial services came by to clear the plates. She didn't want any more grapes and neither did I, but she felt bad about wasting the food. The custodial staffer shrugged and said, "There's so much waste anyway." Elo agreed, "Yeah, I know, and I feel so bad about all the wasted food and paper..."

"And lives," I added.

It took her and her neighbor a moment, but they laughed. Her neighbor said with a raised eyebrow, "Feeling a little jaded today?"

"Oh, you have no idea," Elo said, laughing.

We got out early today (no painfully awkward dinners with associates or partners) and Elo invited me to meet her boyfriend, as we were walking in the same direction from the office. He's a nice Jewish lawyer who appears to be just as sweet as she is. After chatting with him for 10 minutes or so, he had to go back to work, and we continued on, spending half an hour on my street chatting about parents and dating.

It's nice to think that I will have a workplace BFF. I never really had one before.

And on another unrelated topic: what is wrong with my aunt and uncle? They are such children. Not to mention my mother, who is not exactly a child ... more like demon spawn, I think. Anyway. My aunt and uncle didn't come to my graduation because they didn't want to see my father. Now they have decided they can't deal with my mother and so have cut off contact with her too.

I lost my patience and called them tonight, and sounded off about them not coming to graduation, about them not calling me even when I send them things, about them cutting off contact with everyone, about them stewing about things in the past they can't change. I mean, my uncle says tonight, "Someday I'll tell you some things that I couldn't tell you before, that I wasn't allowed to say before, and you'll understand." God damn it man, don't fucking tell me a thing! I don't care! I don't want to hear it! How many goddamn secrets does this family have, and why the HELL do I need to hear them? And why the HELL do I need to be the one telling my aunt and uncle, who are in their sixties and seventies, that they can't cut everyone off, or else they'll be alone, and that will depress them more?

I certainly understand depression, and how it can cripple you, wrap you up so tight that you can't see anywhere to move, so that you lie there and stare at the ceiling and wish you could sleep for days at a time because you feel so empty, so hopeless when you're awake. I just wish I didn't have to be the one pushing my aunt and uncle out of their depression -- and it does sound like my uncle, at least, is feeling depressed.

I don't know, I have had friends be depressed, and never felt this kind of resentment and anger toward them. Why do I feel it toward my aunt and uncle? Because I see them as having failed in their roles as the adults? Because I don't want to be the adult? That's true enough. I don't want the responsibility.

God, I need to sleep.

729th Day: Is it worth it?

David inwardly groaned. When he became a lawyer, he hadn't counted on the obligatory recruiting and social events he would have to sit through. Every year, the new associates got younger and dumber, he thought, and it was starting to take more and more patience to sit through a dinner with them.

This year, a youngish looking Asian American woman sat next to him. "Are you important? Should I know who you are?" she asked impudently, in perhaps what she thought was a charming manner.

"I'm not important at all," he demurred. "I'm a partner in the litigation group."

After a few exchanges, they fell into into silence, and David resignedly searched for something to ask the new lawyer. They got onto the topic of hiking, and that worked for a while, until it didn't. They were both trying, David thought, but the conversation just wasn't flowing.

After a few questions about his family, which David answered, the new associate abruptly asked, "Is it worth it? You must love your job to spend so much time doing it, and only see your son for an hour or two in the mornings."

Usually the associates weren't so blunt, and David felt a little taken aback. He went over the usual things he liked about his job -- the intellectual challenge, the joy of reaping the rewards of his labor, the utter lack of worry about money that came from a partner's income. "Does that mean that I don't think about an exit strategy every day?" he asked rhetorically. "No, of course not."

Where had that come from? It wasn't like he tried to keep it a secret, but people usually didn't ask.

"What kind of exit strategies do you think about?"

"Being a farmer," David offered with a half-smile.

"A farmer?"

"I was a farmer for a year and a half. In Israel. Before law school." David couldn't quite believe he was having this conversation. "It was a cooperative, and I was responsible for turkeys and watermelons and..."He paused, trying to remember. "Oh, and tomatoes."

The associate appeared interested. "So how did you decide to go to law school, if you liked farming?"

He could almost feel the grit of the dry, dusty air on the streets of the town where he had raised the turkeys and watermelons and tomatoes. Picking up the phone, warm from the sun, dialing the States, getting his father on the line. He'd never gotten along with the man, and he was prepared to counter all the possible arguments his father would bring up when he told the old man that he was going to enlist in the Israeli army. He was prepared to be calm if the old man yelled, prepared to be persuasive if the old man tried to reason with him.

He'd dropped the news about enlisting, and instead of reacting right away, his father had told him, "Wait a minute. I need to get into my office so I can have some quiet." David waited on the line until his father got into the office in the pharmacy he ran, adrenaline running high, waiting for the disbelief, the anger, the surprise, the bitterness.

Finally. He was in the office. "David?"

"Yes?"

"This past year," his father started out, "this past year, David, it's been ... it's been hell for us. Knowing you're in Israel.

"It's been hell," the old man repeated. "Come back home, David."

David remembered feeling sucker-punched, gripping the warm handle of the public phone in the street, surrounded by people and cars, half the globe away from where his father -- the man with whom he had never gotten along -- was asking him to come home.

I didn't know you cared, he said silently.

He felt a disconnect, telling the story of a moment on the phone 20 years ago to this new associate, in one of the most famous restaurants in New York. Where had that memory come from? And why had he told it to this girl, whom he had met an hour ago?

"Did you and your father get along better after that?"

"No," David answered, "but things started getting better after my son was born. We had something to talk about." The associate fell silent again, and the rest of the dinner was just as awkward as the beginning. David made his excuses and left as soon as he dared, citing Jonah and Melanie as reasons why he needed to leave before everyone else. He murmured that it was nice to meet everyone and beat it out of the room with the views of Manhattan, thinking about the Schuster case and what he needed to get done tomorrow morning, what the dinner had prevented him from finishing tonight.

As he walked away from the coat check, briefcase in hand, he caught a glimpse of the new associate searching for the bathroom. "It's over there," he pointed, and she smiled her thanks. David nodded and headed toward the elevator bank. He pressed the down button and went back to his mental list of things to do tomorrow. But for a moment, he couldn't think of a single thing on the list. All he could think of was the feeling of that warm phone handle, and the plastic pressed against his ear, under the Israeli sun so many years ago.

One down, 729 to go

I arrived at 20 minutes past the time we were supposed to be there this morning because really, could they really mean to arrive by 9 am for breakfast when the first welcome speech started at 9:30?

I was the last person to arrive.

Auspicious beginnings, I tell ya.

Despite sleeping fairly badly the past few days, I managed to get through the day with a socially acceptable level of civility and cheer, helped by multiple cups of coffee that no doubt burned a hole through the lining of my stomach. I talked to a few people I'd met last summer and liked, and found that I still liked them, and met a number of others who met varying degrees of interestingness.

After welcome speeches and paperwork, we were treated to a lunchtime panel with four second year associates who talked about what their first year experiences were like, and what they wished they had known when they started. This included being courteous and polite to the support staff, because "if you get on their list, they can make your life hell."

Two points about that. First, it gave me a horrible impression of the support staff. How professional can they be if they deliberately slow down your projects because you yelled at them? The admonitions made the staff seem vindictive and petty. Second, it's lovely and telling that all four associates thought it necessary to tell the starting class to be polite to people lower in the hierarchy. And not just tell once -- emphasize for literally 5 minutes how important it was. Jesus. What is it about the legal profession that makes any lawyer think she or he can get away with being an asshole?

Other "helpful" tips: ask questions rather than waste time trying to do something yourself, tell people in advance if you need to leave early for some reason or have scheduled vacation time, don't blame others for your mistakes.

Thanks.

We heard about the history of the U.S. group and had a presentation about ethics, and then it was time for the reception, at which three people came up to me and said, "Are you hk? J told me to look for you!" J is a law school friend and has much kindness in her heart. I saw her briefly on Thursday and told her I was dreading the start of work, so she emailed everyone she befriended last summer and told them to take care of me. And so they came, they asked my name, and they looked after me. Damn. That's kindness right there.

By this time, it was 6:30, and it was time for dinner. Yes. No end in sight. Three associates (including my eventual officemate), five first years, lots of cheese, and more calories than I've eaten for the past two weeks.

I walked home, 20 blocks from the restaurant, at 10 pm. There were plenty of people still walking about and cars driving by, but the city felt relaxed, and so did I. I checked my messages and found a text from bigbro that gave me the warm fuzzies. For the first time since I got here, I felt unexpectedly cheerful. Like there might be a way to recapture the hopefulness, the romanticism, the dream of living in New York.