The Bob Loblaw Law Blog

Turns out there really is a Bob Loblaw Law Blog, a fact which makes me about as happy as anything on the internet can. (It doesn’t look like a fake site done as a “Arrested Development” tie-in, because a) it’s been up since November, b) if it is a joke, it’s an unbelievably subtle one, and 3) that would imply that Fox pays to advertise the show).

Yesterday was about as crappy a day as I’ve had in a while. When I got back from King Kong Sunday night, I stayed up a couple of hours later to finish some work I had to get done. And then I couldn’t get to sleep, at all. I wasn’t wired or anything, just absolutely unable to get the brain to turn off. It was around 7 am before I could get to sleep, and that was only after I watched an episode of “Lost” that upset me so much I just wanted to lie down (it was the one where Claire’s baby is born and Boone… well, you know). I was awakened at 10 am by a phone call, but when I answered it they’d already hung up, and then I just fell into a coma again. Missed a phone meeting, missed the work I was supposed to get done, just completely f-ed everything up.

When most people get insomnia, they’re at least able to get up the next day and be tired but semi-functional. For me, I always get into this weird state where I’m semi-conscious but physically unable to get out of bed. I guess if nothing else, it’s a reminder that I don’t need to be actively seeking more caffeine.

I also headed out to the post office to pick up a package my parents had sent. (Presumably I was asleep when it was originally delivered). The line stretched all around the post office, and there was a separate line in the back to pick up packages; that line had about 10 people in it. So I waited for about 20 minutes, until there was one woman in front of me. The guy handed her her package, mumbled something no one could make out, then closed the door. The woman turned to the rest of us waiting in line and said, “He said they’re not taking any more customers.”

It was one of those things where I just shut down; I had absolutely no idea how to react. That somebody could be that much of a dick — not even saying to my face that he was closing up, but just shutting the door and slinking off into hiding — my brain doesn’t know how to handle it. The woman behind me did, though; she shouted “Asshole!” and stomped to the other line. Everybody else who’d been standing in line filed past me to the other line or out the building to come back the next day, and I just kept standing there.

Sure, my rational brain knows that cussing at the guy or pitching a fit wouldn’t have done any good and would’ve just gotten me upset, but the whole thing was doubly annoying. Once for wasting my time, and double for giving me another opportunity to just stand there filled with impotent rage, wondering what would be a better course of action than just standing there like a wimpy doofus, or getting into a profanity-filled screaming match with a stranger.

The rest of the night was good, anyway. I had a big steak.