Mental Rehab Post #21
Here we have what they call in the business the relapse. Better known as falling of the wagon, I opened up my "dream box" and it's something I probably need to close. I almost wish she either mad at me for not getting it or just ignored me, but then I hear from her and ....let's just say I shouldn't still feel like that. But I do. And the band played on.
Friday - Studying. My first complete legal memo was due Monday so I hunkered down, got my paperwork and got my arguments together, reviewed the details and worked out a overall sketch and outline of what I intended to write and how all the elements fit together following the layout we had discussed in class.
And the sad part is you believe all that.
Okay, that was the plan. Really. The reality is Sporty didn't agree with me that my idea of getting her something for her birthday was a bad idea. So although I had the best laid plans, in reality I sat on my couch looking at my laptop screen unable to concentrate. Had I actually done something like oh, watched TV or a movie or read a book I might even have reason to be mad at myself, but I as planned I on turned on the Jazz Channel and looked at the little laptop screen with one the cases on my lap staring off into space.
Until I woke up around 4am and went to bed.
So Saturday my head is clear, and I'm going to get at it. I actually do read the cases and do the actual outline and kind of mess around and don't do a whole lot else.
To reward myself for nothing I take Saturday off (I'm so smart) and go to a birthday for a friend of mine down in the Castleberry District. It's a new little spot called Tapas 255, which is done really well as far as the decor and the atmosphere. Unlike the walk-in closet sized M Bar next door, the spot has some space, the deck looks great and the crowd looks like their old enough to order drinks. That last part is occasionally a problem in Castleberry.
One special note, I passed a party of what I considered OLD people, you know people in suits of the primary colors with matching shoes and hats (red, green, that sort of thing) and a few of the younger dudes looked at me and said it looked like my kinda crowd. Wanted to kick him in his young ass.
I was only staying an hour, so like three hours later I finally get the ass to leave. I would have left earlier (seriously) but the waitress disappeared with my credit card. Mine and like six other peoples. For like forty five minutes. I'm checking my balance daily for the next few weeks. Okay, maybe I would have stayed because It's been awhile since I did the "club thing" and girls don't usually wear skirts that short to house parties. There were a few I knew couldn't bend more than ten degrees forwards or backwards without ...er...getting friendly with the world.
The party was nice. Traded a little gossip, got some free cake, and had a woman approach me on her own initiative. I did look good in the black though.
Sunday. I had no choice. I got to actual work. And then I realized my folly. Around say...8pm I realized I hadn't eaten dinner yet. Or lunch. Or breakfast for that matter. This was much harder than I thought, even though I had an outline. I had even missed most of the Cowboy season opener to get this done! What's really going on? (Thank god for SportsCenter) So I keep at it till, revising and rewriting till...2am? ...and finish up the last paragraph and polish at the office.
Let's hope this is lesson learned. But I doubt it.
Barkeep. Aw man forget it, I'm going to bed.