I’m listening to an LDS Hymn called “If You Could Hie to Kolob” and it’s absolutely beautiful. I got the entire hymnal on CD (14 CD’s actually) and the music is calming. Soothing music is definitely something I need after yesterday’s fiasco. What a circus! A deposition gone awry because I was the star of the show and nobody notified me that it was happening. I got a call and they asked if I was coming. “Um, I wasn’t aware I was supposed to be anywhere,” was my reply. I was so incredibly angry. I wasn’t dressed for it, I was caught off-guard by it, I was dealing with a stand-in attorney instead of my own, and I didn’t have an opportunity to have anyone with me there that I knew because there wasn’t time to notify anyone. And I was going to be very late, since I was 30 miles away in another town. Worst possible scenario. I looked like a real schmuck as far as I was concerned. I managed to handle myself fine during the deposition and keep my emotions under control. The deposition went fine as far as the stand-in attorney was concerned, after all was said and done. I, however, had to call my doctor, take some extra medication to get calmed down, take a lukewarm shower, eat something after not having eaten all day (a full 12 hours), and try to do something to keep myself from exploding. I had an excess of neurotransmitters interacting in ways God never intended them to, to say the least. That’s how PTSD works. But it’s over. Before I got the call yesterday, I had the song that I began this paragraph naming running through my head for some reason. I really love this hymn, and it was good that I had it running through my head prior to this debacle. The Spirit was trying to prepare me for the coming trial. Thank God…literally. I’m exhausted today, and I feel burnt physically and mentally. It’s like I just ran a full marathon yesterday on the spur of the moment. That’s NOT going to happen again, if I have anything to say about it!
Content Rating PG, for the most part
I try to keep the content of my posts in the PG range (meaning that maybe your 13-year-old should not read it... Just kidding!) - you know, something I could get away with tastefully in the town square without getting lynched, tarred-and-feathered, or hung (and something my mother would NOT wash my mouth out with soap for). As far as what age you have to be to understand some of the subtleties of my humor in writing and/or speaking, well... That may vary. A lot.