Some people love their jobs. They're very lucky, some people. Not me. Not today. Not ever. Sorry to say. My job, my profession, I tolerate it. There are things about it I appreciate like its flexibility and its way of making me feel like I don't have a regular punch-the-clock 9 to 5 job. The pay is good, or it used to be much better back in the days when wallets and bank accounts were fat and happy.

Now, I'm not saying all attorneys are bad. No, I won't say that. I've met many attorneys throughout the years who I'd be friends with in real life, if not at least friendly. But once in a while, I have an encounter that makes me feel so sour and angry and wretched inside. I really hope I don't have that effect on other people, I really don't, and can't imagine my life's work being to have that effect on others.

One of these days, I'll put my steno machine away or, in my fantasy, place it in the middle of the street and watch as oncoming traffic, preferably an 18-wheeler, drives over it and smashes it to bits. Until then, I am just a potted plant.

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