I came home and this happened.

I came home today at around 1 pm. I sat down in front of my computer because I was asked, by my paid bestie, to come up with a bullet list of  case types that I think I would be unable handle. I got about this far:

What types of cases will you not be able to work with?

I don’t know!!!

Little background.

I feel like I have been through so many things, that I can handle anything. I don’t think there is a case that will make me want quit the field. I have about a week to come up with something.

Although I was unable to think of case types that I can’t deal with, what did happen was a start to a memoir. I sat there for an hour and a half and wrote about 2000 words. I started from my earliest recollection, the fire, and stopped at the age of 18 when I met my now ex-husband.

I was kind of excited that I wrote so much that I posted on Facebook asking my English major friend if he was still interested in playing editor for me. He said “of course”…

So the ball is rolling again…. I think….

I decided to drop a rough, rough excerpt here so that I may possibly intrigue you into interest in the whole.

……I had gotten really tired of hearing all of things negative things and began lashing out on the world. I would fight in school a lot!  I wouldn’t fight because I was being picked on or anything directly connected to me, I would fight because my friends knew that I would fight their battles for them… I had never really got caught fighting so it was no big deal at the time. There was that skewed perception of helping others again. I did fight once for myself though, there was a girl in my class, Beth Black, that I had a phantom issue with. I would bully her and make fun of her daily. She eventually got sick of the mistreatment and decided that on that day she would stand up to me and for herself. She was unaware that I had brought a bottle of hard alcohol to school and was already infused with liquid courage. I got to class and did my usual bump into her, followed by a very sarcastic “I’m sorry”. I expected that she would just sit as she usually did, but this time she had, understandably, had enough. She turned to me and said “bullshit you’re sorry”.



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