Momma, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Lawyers

To all my friends, and acquaintances:

I am sorry for any and every slight I've shown y'all these last days.
My cup runneth over.
The schedule of the courts is beating me like a pile-driver.
My hair's on fire. My fingernails gone.
My Christmas cards sit unsigned.
A thousand emails sleep unanswered.
My holiday spirit is still corked with frustration.
And I mourn deeply for a sweet, sweet child.

I've run out of time. Out of patience. Out of peace. Out of courtesy.
I can only await redemption. Or death. Or glory.

Or I can by-god go out and change it.
And work my butt off. And get it all done.
And hope you'll still be there to pick me back up.
And remind me.

All things considered, I'll choose the latter path.

I'm not that smart,
but I figured out some time ago
That it's not so much what you make of life.
As it is what life makes of you.

And it means the world to me.
People like you.