I am amazed at what a day can bring.  I wake up thinking it will be mundane or the same.  My morning sheets twist and pull.  The office phone rings.  My private phone vibrates.  I receive numerous random texts.  My office and private e-mails are full of messages.  I find it becomes a constant addiction.  I am snorting in all of these messages, pokes, voice mails and white lines shoved in my in-box. 

It’s communication overload.  I love it.  I hate it.  I am addicted to it.

By 11:00 I get a naked man’s picture in my in-box.  Everything but the head (O.K. you know what I mean—you can’t see his face).  This is thanks to an ex-client wanting me to take a look at something for some confidential reason or another.

Really?  A piece of me becomes suddenly tired.  They call this practicing law.

Later on in my morning I get into arguments with clients.  They all know what they are supposed to do because I tell them what to do.  I send out letters explaining it to them in simple terms.  They don’t listen.  They just are not capable of coloring inside the lines.  Then for some reason this becomes my fault.  They want me to glue it all back together. 

On this day my hot glue gun is out of glue stick. 

They need a wizard and a magic wand.

Then an opposing counsel has to call.  We fight with words.  It’s heated and mean.  I don’t like to be mean.  It really is not my nature.  I have these moments where I threaten to light a car on fire or use my gun. 

It is a repeated beating I take until I am in a corner.  Then I just have to hit back.  He is skilled at twisting words and trying to fork them back into my mouth. 

I spit them back out.  My spit hits his shoes.

It’s all about $3,000.00 a month in child support.  A win. 

I know he really wanted to say all women are bitches. 
I know he wanted to call me a bitch.
On my way home I get an invite from my girlfriend to go and pick blueberries.

In my mind I am trying to figure out my next explanation and move.  I haven’t called Porsche man back in over two weeks.  He has left a few messages. This has weighed on me.  Makes my eyes tired.

I have been a coward.  But I am not a coward. 

I cannot even be honest with him because I don’t really understand how to articulate it myself. 

I find it disturbing I like spending more time with his best friends than I do with him.  When we are alone I get that feeling of dread and familiar fear.  

I think that there has to be a lot of lazy and manipulative women who would love this man and everything he has to offer.  They have sat in my office. 

But this woman can’t stand in any sexy lingerie holding glass of wine oooing and ahhing over how he puts in a sink. 

(He has told me directly that under these circumstances he wouldn’t mind being my best friend and wouldn’t mind putting in that sink) 

I know in the end he would be my worst enemy.  

Then I see it:  He has this vision of me—and it’s not me, at all, that he sees.

He doesn’t like my second job.  He seems embarrassed by it.  It appears I am not successful in my legal career and need to take on this position.  I tell him I choose this route because it is my route.  I don’t have to explain it to him.  It’s really none of his business.  I am hoeing my own row.  I choose not to smoke that cigarette.  I just need to do something with my hands.

He is fixated on money.  I don’t think he will ever have enough of it.  He doesn’t really like to read.  The conversation topics all turn and are all about him.  What he is doing, where he is going, what he would like to accomplish. 

His stories really don’t even interest me. 
I don’t want his hands to touch mine.

I am being harsh.  If he read these words I would hurt him.  I don’t want to hurt him because I do think that he appears to be good and kind.  He is a good looking man.  He comes from a great powerful political family.  He could do wonders for my career.  He really really likes me.  He has been so respectful in that regard.  I should be grateful and thankful and happy and………


I close my eyes.  I feel he just is not good for me.  There is something on the fringes and I can’t put my finger on it.  It’s enough to concern me.

I need to be honest and blurt out this truth.  Or do I? 

No, tonight I am going blueberry picking with my daughter and friends. I am ignoring that message.  I choose to go to the middle of the field in Kent City.  I am in Newayo County–Judge Dimkoff’s region.  Here there are no texts or phones.  We are laughing and eating as many berries as we want to.  It starts to rain and I like the feel of my jeans and the dirt under my flip flops.  I am a kid with my grandmother in South Haven.  We are having a blueberry fight with my handsome cousin Corey.  I am in the open field on the farm again.  Birds chirp and dart in and out of the bushes.  I like the banter we share.  I like how Donna’s John is willing to pop up the hood of my car and take a look at what is making that funny noise.  I don’t have to put on any lingerie.  He does it because he likes me for me and we are all friends.  I like that we share stories of ding dong ditching.  I like my Sarah sitting next to me thanking me for the wonderful evening.  I like this time with her.  She is so beautiful, fun and smart.

This night is natural, free, spontaneous and genuine. 

I couldn’t re-create it if I tried.

It’s like movie night at Amy’s house.  Five young children running loose and neighbors just keep rolling in.  The house is cluttered and crowded.  We drink wine out of plastic cups and watch The Big Lebowski.  Her nieces help me sort though clothes.

Jeff Bridges is bowling in his robe, flip flops, and boxer pants.  He is always smoking his pot.  You can’t get more comfortable or casual than that.

And here it is midnight and I am writing this post because I don’t want this day (that started out all tense and shitty) to end.  

I am going to go home and down a bowl of fresh blueberries. I am going to light some more candles and work on more projects.

I like that I have a Thursday night I am really looking forward to. 

Maybe this person might really see me for me.

But who knows.  It could be another one of my delusions.

I don’t know.  I am still figuring any and all of it out and wondering if that is even possible.

But tonight, I do know, I will be eating fresh blueberries.