Lawyers Hate Me


Rembrandt, The Prodigal Son in the Tavern, a self-portrait with Saskia, c. 1635, Gemäldegalerie, Dresden

Never mess up a good memory with the facts. My lawyer wrote a book. I have lifetime training and practice in speed reading, and I read the story of his life in 15 minutes in his waiting room. Less really. There was no imagination, just an accounting. It was like reading a spreadsheet.
He offered me a free copy and when I said no thanks I’ve already read it, he didn’t believe me. I said I prefer creative descriptive writing, that takes hours to savor and enjoy and re-read just for the pleasure of the words. I could look at Rembrandts feathers all day long… Steinbeck could take 3 pages to describe a drop of dew on a leaf…and I could read your entire life in less than 15 minutes. There is nothing to hold the eye or capture the imagination. You are a very interesting guy, I said, you should learn how to write.
Lawyers hate me. QC’s despise me.
My wife went law school, I went to art school.
The sex was dry and mundane, worse than the nurse but not as bad as the engineer. 50 shades of blah. I liked the part where you moved, then smiled and kissed me back; we laughed with joy, in my imagination.
I was more in love with Rembrandt’s wife than my own.
At least the divorce was free.