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Monday, July 6, 2009

Ego...not just a screwed up spelling for a waffle.

Powerful stuff.

The Ego, the Id, whatever it is.

It makes me believe my own bullshit, when left to my own devices, and that never, ever, ends well.

The home life was quiet. The hurt echoed through the house.

My head kept telling me I could do better alone. It's truly a terrible thing to be absolutely lonely when you're married. But I suppose I had it coming.

The firm I was working for was working me to death, as lead investigator, and the partners collected the cash, rode motorcycles and played golf. The nerve.

Again, my head told me I deserved better. Of course it did.

We lived next door to one of the partners, and late one afternoon I received a call from a prospective client and acquaintance I had known, working at the D.A.'s office. He needed us on a case, outside channels.

I told him I'd give him a sweetheart deal, do it on my own and off the books. We agreed on a price and he hung up. About fifteen seconds later the partner was at my door, phone in hand. He overheard the entire conversation on his cordless phone. I was busted flat footed.

Heated words were exchanged and I shut the door, hot with shame and embarrassment. I called another client, a prominent Defense Attorney in town and told him I was looking for greener, more permanent pastures. He agreed to see me the following day.

I interviewed in Preston Towers, and he offered me the job. My own office and secretary, a twenty-something, single, Hispanic Mom, who, truth be told was cuter than a baby duck wearing a hat.

Of course I took the job. The P.I. firm failed to take it well.

I told the wife I was moving out, needed some space, and rented a tiny apartment in Highland Park. She took it even worse. The guilt over leaving my girls was crushing, but my false pride carried me the next step. I was a shit heel and a fraud, and I knew it.

However the defense firm I was working for paid well, and I kept getting coy looks from my secretary, while she played with her hair.

Defending the guilty, while distasteful, is a requirement by Law. The adage, somebody has to do it applies. I admit to idealistic visions of defending the innocent, but no one innocent ever came to our office.

We won some and lost some, as is the case most of the times. But I was able to wear nice suits, afford Armani eye wear, and feel special.

One night I was working late, just me and our secretary. I was going over client interviews when she appeared in the doorway. A storm had rolled in, and lightning flashed through the blinds. She shut the door behind her, and turned off the light.

I heard the fabric of her dress as it dropped to the floor.

Oh, shit...this was not covered in the employee handbook.

And to think, I didn't even have dental...

1 comment:

robert said...

more, more, more! Great stuff, your getting me hook for the novel, in which I'm sure you will fill in all the details, no? BM

My new disclaimer...yeah I know.

Okay, the old disclaimer was tired. The ideas were outdated and keeping me stuck in a place I don't want to be now for something more refreshing.

I have recently changed my views regarding women. Seems I had some issues with the fairer sex due to past pain and self- centered fear. (Yes...duh applies.)

I'm done with that.

Being in recovery has helped me change my entire life, perceptions and attitudes. I cannot change my history but I can change my today and my future.

I recently realized that the women I know in recovery are some of the strongest, bravest, most gentle and kind teachers I have ever had. You exemplify integrity and spiritual growth, and I hope you know who you are.

Some may know of my past marital and relationship history and been a participant in them as well. It's past and that's where it the past.

I own my part in those failures but claim no more responsibility in any misery you may be experiencing. I am sorry, but it's time to get off the cross. We need the wood.

Thank you all...