Let’s go back in time for a moment. The following is a transcript of a video (plus audio) I made recently, after finding a bunch of old journals while organizing my office:
Well, today I was going to write, but our internet’s down and there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do on this computer when the internet’s down because everything is connected to the cloud, right? It’s all cloud-based and it’s all saved for you, and they’ll wipe your ass for you and all that good stuff. Right? Okay. Okay. Well, anyway, I can make this recording, so here I go. I’m just going to read from my journal. This is a journal I kept. I cannot believe the level of detail and how good my handwriting is during the time I had a law office.
Sunday, January 27th, 1994
Well, another attempt at keeping a journal. How fitting that my first entry should be on an occasion when I'm sitting in my car "broken down," so to speak, in a parking lot/a loading area in one of Columbia's industrial parks.
Metaphorically, this seems very appropriate. I just went to church for the first time in about 20 years, not counting marriages and funerals. I thought I'd give it a shot. I need to do something to meet potential clients. Also, I figured the Unitarian church would be a relatively painless form of the beast. Wrong.
The service, if it could be called that, maybe the presentation would describe it better, was about differences in men and women. A topic I've come to loathe, anyway. It was torture. An hour from hell, too PC, two touchy-feely, too much. There was a couple sitting to my right who drove me nuts, at least the husband did. Most of the time, he had his arm around his wife and kept scratching her back, rubbing her neck, patting her shoulder, feeling her hair as if she needed continual comfort and support. Maybe she did. It drove me nuts, anyway. Page two. <laugh>.
One of the ushers is an attorney I recognize who practices in Ellicott City. He's a difficult person to talk to, anyway, very stiff. After the service, I left as fast as I could. I know he had to see me, but I just didn't want to talk to him about anything. I really needed air at that point. Anyhow, I get in my car to go to the store. As I'm driving, I realize there's something very wrong with my clutch. When I push it in, the car slows down. I park at the store and try to pull the parking brake. It's loose. I don't know cars, but I'm under the impression that one, the brake cable may be broken and/or two, my brakes are "frozen" in the on position. At first, I thought somehow the clutch and brake we're interacting, but that does not seem likely.
When I left the store, the problem seemed to have gone away or diminished. I decided to take back roads in case something happened. I'm glad I did. I pulled over when I began to smell burning rubber. The back tires were smoking like hell, confirmation that the brakes are on. So what do I do? Guess I'll head for the closest shopping center and call Rick and maybe AAA, and we were just talking about letting my membership run out. Well, I've been here for almost 20 minutes. As riveting as the scenery is, I think I'll move on. Before I move on further with the journal I'll just say, you'll know that I had to go to the nearest walk to the nearest shopping center to call Rick my husband. That's because we didn't have cell phones back then. Yeah. Okay, so it's the nineties, 94.
Anyway, I have a line drawn and it says it's late, almost half past midnight. I've done virtually everything on my list for today, except of course, write. Somehow that item always gets neglected. By the way, the brakes seem to have fixed themselves. I didn't have a problem with them on the way home. I spoke to Bill Reitwiesner. He's moved to a different address in DC. Northeast, still Capitol Hill. His father died in December. He and his brothers and sisters seem to be doing okay. He offered congratulations on the opening of my office. I thanked him. It's flattering to be recognized for opening my office. It's scary to contemplate the responsibility and financial risk. It's exciting to consider the possibilities. The loss of income is driving Rick and me crazy. I want to scream every time I look at old entries in my checkbook. Huge biweekly deposits. No more. Was it worth it? Worth it? In what sense? I think it was worth it. Whether it will lead to anything is anyone's guess.
That's just the first entry, and for some reason down here, way at the bottom. Way at the bottom, I have written the words, "pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed or numbered" <laugh>. Clearly, I am obsessed with that show, The Prisoner <laugh>. I have some thoughts about why, but maybe I'll get into that later. That's entry one.
*****
That's what I wrote way back in the last century/millennium when I had a law office. Marketing and networking were just as important then. Not to mention getting paid.
PS: Here's one of my favorite scenes from The Prisoner! Hmm. Maybe I should write a book about the making of that show. Or something. :)
"Haven't they killed you yet?" Best line ever! :)
PPS: I’d have posted my video, but I ran out of time. :)
You Don’t Need a Computer to Write