It was a week in which, after Mass on Sunday, I took the dog out with me austensibly to go fishing and we ended up on the Sweetwater. We walked a fair amount and I noticed, on such a nice day that I shed my coat, that I was walking fatigued. "Out of shape?", I wondered, or just rapidly onsetting old age.
I was having a pretty hard time.
Turned out it was Influenza A. The next morning I was in horrific shape. I went to work, but by noon was a wreck.
I knew it already, but one of the negative things about being a lawyer, at least in some cases, your health matters only to you, and you keep on going anyhow. I had to crawl down to work every day, didn't eat at night, and had the fevers of delirium all night long. Nobody really care that much as they have things they want to you to do. "Help me!". So you go and do it, knowing you are killing yourself.
"You don't look good". "You look worn out". Things I was hearing during the week.
Oh well, the weekends here . . and I worked.
The glory of the law.
The law, they say, is a jealous mistress. As one still practicing older lawyer told me, "the law's a bitch". Both are true.
The same week an event in 1925 recalled a proposal in 2025 that didn't go anywhere, thank goodness.
Tuesday, March 3, 1925. Monumental.
Random snippets. Nero's Court.
The Madness of King Donald. The 25th Amendment Watch List.
Last edition:
No comments:
Post a Comment