15-03.17.65 in Book Two: The Fifteenth Year of the Third Millennium of the Common Era

Alternate Title: More On Dragons

Before any discussion of anything, I wanted to share something I find particularly pleasant about ProseBox. For the most part… race is not an issue. Now, I would be lying if I were to ignore the fact that I genuinely feel like most of my readers are white. That is a judgment gleaned from diction, geographic location, and relative education levels. However, I could just as easily be entirely wrong in my assumptions and, frankly, it wouldn’t change a thing. The race of readers and the race of writers is largely arbitrary in most respects. We, as human beings existing in such a flawed world, all experience varying degrees of similar troubles, struggles, joys, and sorrows. That is the beauty of language when language is divorced from our visual misconceptions. I’ll admit, I’m a language snob. If an adult individual of any race speaks/writes as though they haven’t progressed further than the fourth grade… I do tend to judge them. Perhaps I shouldn’t. But language and the communication of ideas is such an integral part of modern society. And… when that communication can take place without visual judgments… for my money, it is the closest thing to true peace the world may ever see. Just a thought that struck me as I was playing catch-up on old entries from friends. That… for many… I have no idea what they look like. And, though I am curious, in many ways it is for the best. A person whose voice, opinions, and suggestions I respect exists strictly as the words… the content that they share. And as cruel and shameful as it is… it is very possible that (for example) were I to know that the person writing that content was an 800 lb Imam… how I perceive the content may be changed.

The general truth of the day today is trapped within the routine. Awoke early for a quick work shift. Work proved again that I am necessary as the courtroom was without certain important documents. When I alerted the proper parties, they were taken aback and said “That explains the other day” because… apparently, either my co-workers don’t know (or knowing them, don’t care) how to gather the materials they need to do their jobs properly. So… my presence, even for a three hour shift, fixed an issue that has been going on for a few days. Returned home to a still sleeping wife… as per usual, sleeping until the very last second she can afford before waking up, showering, and leaving so that she arrives at work no more than 20 minutes late. Shortly after she left, I returned to work for the more irritating part of my new shift. So, because we hired three people to replace me while I was studying for the bar… I now only work 12 hours a week as opposed to 12 hours a day. Granted.... that is nice. But… I still only work a part-time job. So… it used to be 2 12 hour days, for a total of 24 hours per week. Now? Two split-shifts in the middle of the week… having me work 3 hours in the morning then three hours in the early evening… for more travel and only 12 hours a week. I would have preferred the other way because I felt more useful but… these things happen. Felt super tired for most of the day but I’m not 100% sure as to why.
When I got back from the evening shift, I took care of some dishes that had piled up. I’m trying to continue to keep the kitchen as clean as my wife wants it… because, I guess, I am entirely wrapped up in my labeling identities. I am a husband, therefore it is my duty, my privilege, and my obligation to be servant-hearted. For however little or much that matters.

I have no idea how I’m going to spend the rest of the night, though. Kind of trying to decide between video games, movies, reading some H.G. Wells, masturbating, or a combination of all of the above.

Before I leave, though, a few things:
1- Wrote to the wedding photographer again. This time in the format of a demand letter. Seriously… our wedding was in 2011… give. us. our. product. asshat!
2- It is St. Patrick’s Day today… but I actually won’t be drinking tonight, oddly enough. I would kill for a drink right now. Which is why I won’t be having one. Lately I’ve been using alcohol to pass the time. I feel my fears and anxieties plague me about the bar exam… that’s what the rum is for. I feel my heart break and tear over the issues with my wife… have some whiskey. And keep drinking until The Day arrives where you will have answers to hard questions. Keep blocking out those negative feelings so that time will pass quickly. That may be what I was taught by example, but it certainly was not what I was taught by word. And part of the honor I wish to create for my family is found in doing what I can to align our words and deeds. If we are a family that claims to face fear, work through problems, and conquer our anxieties… we must confront those difficult emotions head-on. There are 4 weeks remaining. I’m terrified. I rather preferred it when I was certain I failed, because there was no anxiety over potential. This time? I am on a razor’s edge. 49.9% certain I failed, 49.9% certain (ish) that I passed.... and the remaining .2% is the real estate I am occupying at this very moment. It makes me uneasy. But to medicate that would be to remove myself from the experience and I’ve worked too hard to get here to do that.