I've nothing much to write on this evening.
I could vent about the job situation, or lack thereof. I could say that I'm scared, frustrated, humiliated, ashamed, and nervous all at once. I could degenerate into a sustained burst of self-loathing about the whole thing, how I should have known better, how I am to blame for the whole sorry mess, etc. I could vent about the place that I worked, and what I think about them. I could vent about how weird it was to catch my former boss and his wife driving down my cul-de-sac, staring at my house earlier this week. Disturbing, to say the least. I still don't know what that was about. I could vent about how bad I think this will affect any future job prospects that I might have.
I'm really glad to be rid of the place. I've never had a job that I hated so much. And I've had some really stinker jobs. It was a combination of personalities that didn't mix, a morally reprehensible line of work, a system that was in growing pains, micromanagers who really weren't able to effectively train, and dual stress from the job and the personal side of things that made this the wrong career move for me. It goes back to one of my earlier posts, where I mentioned that if you don't believe in what you are doing, then you really shouldn't be doing it at all. Lesson learned yet again.
I could rant on about my continued waffling on the gun issue. Since I'm going to be outdoors for an extended period this weekend, I figured a Glock would be a pretty good choice for wilderness packing and fun shooting. At least it won't rust if it rains. However, I discovered the Glock .45 I have is an older one, with a serial number that falls in a series of ones that are known to blow up if they get a bad round put through them. Thanks, internet. Time to send it back to Uncle Gaston. That sort of ruins my faith in the firearm. I now don't trust it, and that means I really shouldn't carry the thing.
I could state that I'm looking forward to church in the morning. That's an unusual thing. But if one happens to find the right church, it's a pleasure to go. Going someplace that's comfortable, nonjudgmental, informative and educational is a good thing. It's actually fun. Plus, they have really good coffee. No, really. They do. I'd better get to bed so that I don't need as much of it to remain conscious.
I could write about the sugar glider waiting until the labrador is completely asleep and snoring, and then dive-bombing him. It's pretty funny to watch. She knows exactly what she's doing.
I could write about the labrador, and how he basically never leaves my side. He's excited to see me every time I come home, and he's all about unconditional love. It's a great feeling to know that somebody loves you, and it doesn't matter what your personal failings are. It doesn't matter that I'm not a multi-millionaire. That should be a lesson learned for me. I've got a wife that loves me, pets that love me, a family that loves me, friends that love me, a god that loves me, and a baby on the way. Blast the job situation. It's not really that important, in the grand scheme of things. It was a sorry job anyway. When I've got that kind of unconditional love coming my direction, nothing else is all that important. I'll be fine, no matter whether I ever work in the legal field again or not. And I'll be a better person for it, one way or the other. That I firmly believe.
So much ado about nothing, indeed.