Monday

I'd planned on a travelogue from a great weekend with P, but today is shaping up to be pretty delta sierra so I think I'll save the cheerful post for a day I'm feeling cheerful.

Sitting here locked out of my email to start the week. Another lawyer in town had his email hacked, and someone from his address sent me an email with an attachment (I'd been expecting something from him, which caused me to let my guard down), and once I clicked on the attachment our security protocol swung into motion and locked me out. Now our IT guy can't figure out how to get back in, and if he can't I sure as hell can't. Stuck.

The day began before dawn at Wyldswood, after flying all afternoon yesterday to get down here, then scarfing down Popeye's, calling P, and trying to fall asleep by 9:30. Instead I stared at the ceiling for who knows how long, then awoke a few minutes before the 5:30 a.m. eastern alarm to start driving back to PC. I figured that would give me plenty of time to stop by the condo, figure out a grocery list, and slide into a busy week.

Instead I arrived at the line of cars on 231 up in Bayou George, and crawled along for 45 minutes for a portion of the trip that should have lasted fifteen. I truly don't know how people live here anymore, particularly if that awful commute is a daily experience for them.

Around me were cars with Second Amendment flags flying from their trailer hitches, a resold cop car driven by a minimum wager with a Gadsden Flag license plate (I looked up on my phone which states offer Gadsden Flag plates with the snake on them, and it's pretty much exactly the ones you'd expect. Neither NY nor Mass made the list). Another had a bumper sticker proclaiming something about how we need to return to God, with the inapposite message on a window sticker, "I like boobs".

Me too, friend, although my affections are directed to two in particular. It's best that way.

All this had me coming through the office door late, yet again, and then onto my first phone call with a smarmy lawyer from Orlando who was eating something while we spoke that required him to loudly suck his teeth as he was talking down to me about his extensive experience as a lawyer. He asked for details about the damages in a suit I just filed, and it was when I tried to respond that I realized I was locked out of my files.

Just finished my third call of the morning. After the snarky lawyer came the tale of the ne'er do well sibling who stole dad's oxycodone while he was dying of bone cancer, then refused to move out of the house after the funeral. Next up was a poor guy with a vacant lot worth a lot of money who just got a letter from a lawyer wanting his insurance info because someone walking along the frontage managed to fall and hurt themselves.

I love my job. Not.

So, here's a shot I took as I was climbing out of KELM yesterday. You can see the Gaffer Tower along the river. Peg's tough to see, but about three blocks up the hill from there. My happy place.