March 19, 2009: Charred Wits

A million years ago, my mother told me that my grandfather had started saving money to send me to law school after I had argued him to a standstill. When I was three.

I don’t know if the story’s true; both of my parents either had very bad memories or made a lot of stuff up. (Or both, making stuff up to cover up those pesky gaps in memory.) After the past couple of days, I’m glad that, whatever the truth of the matter, I never went to law school.

This isn’t meant to be disrespectful of lawyers — I know several, and even have one in the family. It’s just that I’ve spent the last two days proofreading lease clauses, and at the end of both days, my brain has been a shorted-out, blackened mess. And that’s just from reading them; I can’t imagine what I’d be like if I had to write them. Maybe you’d be able to see the char from the outside.

I’m dragging my poor, abused wits off for a little R&R.

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