Returned to me this afternoon, along with personal insurance documentation, were 7 ripped out pages from a yellow legal pad, with handwriting on the front and back of each page. On it, I discovered my streaming consciousness from a legal seminar I attended about two years ago. Here is a peak inside my mind at that time -- unedited, as I wrote it on the page, and entitled (by me at that time): Streaming Barbarella from the Seminar
Sometimes I wish I could close my eyes. My ears. My mouth. Iím exhausted. I just donít want to drift away, not now. So tired. Of wondering, of waiting for responses. Why does each one give me just enough energy and hope to make it to the next? What if the next never comes? Then I shall sleep. And close all of me off from all of it. I might just collapse. Letís see if this cold water pulls me through.
Here we go Ė a bit of a wake up, more from the spill of my cold water than by sipping it. Fuckiní A. I need to be creative here. These seats are comically uncomfortable.
Awesome. Someone sitting in front of me. Now I donít have to pretend that these are notes Iím writing down and not my own mental monologue. Next week, last class, 2 shots of espresso before I get here, no exceptions. What if I just wrote down my thoughts for the duration of this seminar? Sheís just reading the chapter, itís not like Iím getting examples or relatable analogies.
Iím actually going between this paper and my actual note-taking paper I write here when there are no notes to take, and there when there are notes I want to jot down, but regardless of where Iím writing, I am continuously doing so. I sense a major hand cramp in my near future. I timed it the other day Ė I do type faster than I write by hand. I am a product of my time. The keyboard is mightier than the sword.
No longer tired, as now I just have to pee. Thank you, cool water and air conditioning. The woman to my right, who shares my name, but nothing else I bet, shakes the table when she writes. As I am writing nonstop, I bet she feels the table shake from me. I bet itís bugging her.
Itís 85 degrees in here. Literally, I can see the thermostat. No wonder Iím so lethargic. My pupils seek the cooler shade of my body temperature beneath closed lids than the dry, paralegal-stenched hot air in the room.
I must pee. This could be another verse in Bunkyís song, Gotta Pee. Who has really gotta pee? Itís me! Itís me! Who here has got to go pee, pee, pee? Itís me! Itís me! Sung to the tune Ė And whereís that blasted rain? In Spain! In Spain! Henry Higgins, what a pompous prick you are.
No way, page 3 of my bullshit, and only 2 pages of actual notes Ė most of itís in the book, I told you, sheís just reading it, right from the manual.
God, I feel SO much better! Went pee, got some grapes, now, ready to concentrate and listen for a bit. I had poured myself some coffee and added cream. When I discovered little floaty-things at the surface of my coffee, I quickly grabbed another cup Ė I donít mind black coffee Ė itís a hell of a lot better than some fucking floating thing landing on my lip.
God, it feels good to be alert. And this cantaloupe tastes, like, TOO good. Fresh air coming in now, weíve opened the sliding door to the patio, and I can hear children playing in the hotel pool. Expert witnesses, interrogatories, penalties, sanctions, this is the most awake and energetic I have felt in over a week. The water, the coffee, the air, the fruit, my eyes are wide and my scalp is buzzing Ė I want to be reading. I want more coffee. But the next break is another hour away.
I wish I had more poems memorized. Looks like I have yet another project to add to my ever-growing list. Iím really digging my handwriting right now. Why canít I write like this all the time, instead of that chicken scratch doctor doodle scribble crap that usually comes out of my pen. Huh!?
In state court you donít have to retype interrogatories Ė sample verifications, declarations, we do so love our syllables. I do so love to hear my own voice when I talk to my cats (myself) in the morning. My dialogue with myself is some of the most rewarding and lighthearted conversation I get. I always know what I mean. I never take offense to anything I say. When I wish for elaboration, I elaborate. The only reason I even talk to other people is because they offer new elements and ideas that I take home in my head for inner banter with myself.
Now, one finger begins to ache, ever so slightly. And she who shares my name wonders what it is I could be writing so fervently, so rapidly, and I know she fears she may be missing something crucial Ė and I know she would love to copy my diligent writing Ė if only she could see it Ė if only she could share more than just my name Ė I truly feel sheíd be all the better person for it.
On to interrogatories Ė again. All this business consists of, all this declaring, and serving, this responding and filing Ė all this business boils down to, is a longwinded, formal conversation. What a waste of time, paper and breath, when a simple conversation would eliminate over half of lawís specifics. More rules than Mormanism.
This is way too much fun, this writing to myself while intermittently flipping pages and taking notes. Never a dull moment.
I amuse myself immensely. Motion to compel Ė Iím going to have to work that into casual conversation with friends sometime soon.
It will be my new hobby to somehow turn every legal term into a double entendre. I know I can do it. Granting extensions, that oneís just too easy. Failure to timely respond, theyíre writing themselves, those dirty, dirty legal terms. Ha! There went another. Iíll let you know when Iím done with the book.
Two fingers and a spot on the back of my hand, aching. Numbering, lettering, what do I want to do after this?
2nd break over Ė an hour left. Had an interesting experience in the bathroom just now. It was she who shares my name, coincidentally enough, who rolled the toilet paper back INTO the stall, from whence I lost it. And finally, we share more than just our name.
I never knew that genuineness was a word. Sheís said it about a dozen times now, this speaker. So it HAS to be a word. There she goes again Ė and again Ė 14 times. Wow. More, more. The word just wonít freakiní quit. Genuineness of documents. Genuineness of you.
My hands are both red. Even lefty, whom I donít even use to masturbate, let alone write. But she flips the pages while I write my right off and away.
I finally know what IME stands for. She who shares my name and my recent bathroom experience is asking questions and exchanging pleasantries with the speakerÖ I continue to write Ė notes. 2nd cup of coffee, much more bitter and just as black as the first. I will finish that book tonight. I may even add a few pages to my home journal, that is if my hand will work. I missed my sisters. They called my cell right after we began again, after the first break. Dammit. I really wanted to talk to them. 3 hours ahead of me, theyíll be fast asleep when I get out of this conversation with myself Ė and this seminar.
Subpoena is a funny word. Subpoenaing may be funnier. Subpoena Duces Tecum Ė what the hell does that mean? Now, sheís saying subpoenaing just as much as she said genuineness. I canít hide my crooked grin. Itís just all so beautiful. Relevancy, donít you see? There she goes again Ė subpoenaing. Just say it to yourself.
Yes, letís go back to paragraph 2. 30 minutes left, and I donít want to begin another side of legal pad yellow paper Ė it would be my 7th. And I so much prefer the number 6.
Okay, I broke down. Thereís no way Iíd get through another 30 minutes without writing after Iíve come this far. I started to drift off, fantasize of things I want to do to him, believe it or not, writing, even if Iím writing this and not that, holds me more present than if I allowed myself to sit quietly and just THINK.
My mind, when left with no assignment, no task at hand, inevitably drifts to the naughty, the dark, the bad. At least it does when Iím bored and looking to be entertained by my thoughts. I canít believe I went to 7. Itís not divisible by anything! I hate that!
Thatís it Ė ode to subpoena has got to happen. All in good time, my little legal litigator. All in good time. Subpoenaing Ė here it comes again, encore presentation for my amusement alone.
Iím ready to go. I want her to stop now. Stop now! Didnít work. Now! Iím not as powerful as I thought. Okay, donít stop! Apparently, reverse telepathy has no effect on the legally advanced.
I just hallucinated that the naked grape vine sitting on the little white plate just crawled like a lizard at least a centimeter to the left.
And then, she stopped speaking.