It’s Saturday night.
You: having fun. Right? Hopefully.
Me: writing an appellate brief. Currently on page 50 of an allotted 30. Obsessing over this case. Experiencing a little cardiac arrythmia, which is to be expected since I am currently on my 85th cup of coffee for the day. Experiencing the sort of contemplative, antisocial restlessness that one gets after a million straight hours of writing. I want pizza. Or candy. Or a cigarette. Or something. Maybe more coffee is the answer.
Client: dead. In the ground. Forever (depending on what you believe).
All things considered, it ain’t so bad. For me. Or you. Hopefully.