All Good Things Must Come to An End

Today, a lovely woman with expensive highlights and irritated eyes that come from marijuana smoke, came to the near deserted floor on which I was doing my legal review work. "Gather round everyone, I have some news. Your done." She carefully explained that the judge had ordered other side had agreed to take discovery without redaction. They will be held to a 'Do Not Contact' Order.

Thus ended almost three months of steady, fair wage labor that I was qualified to do with no future employment or job prospects in sight. A double whammy, I was just starting to feel good about myself: competent, qualified, capable.  Oh well....

I do feel lucky and blessed. Getting this contract work in Oct. last year was the answer to my tear-filled pleas to God. I called out in my despair and instead of sinking, I was lifted up and stood on the waves and suddenly all was calm. In fact 2010 was the year that, when I look back, I know God was walking with me.

A Brief Bit of Background
A personal miracle happened in November 2010, I was offered and accepted employment. Angels, took hold of my life and pulled it into a small place of shelter. Shelter from the category 5 economic hurricane employed politicians and economists named Recession. Sadly, it was only a resting place. Somewhere to stand and wait out the torrential downpour: an open door to a safe house in the middle of a hurricane.  But, you can't live in a shelter. And in September 2011, I had to leave.

With no place to go and a severance check which would substantiate my demand for at least $40,000 in salary, I filed for everything. I was not going to repeat 2009, a year that introduced me to the paperwork amusement park called public assistance.

Have you ever been to Six Flags or Disneyland? (Heaven forbid) Then you  know what it is like to apply for public assistance. As you may recall, you stood around waiting and waiting and waiting en orderly mass, for the same thing: to be allowed a turn on the ride.  You tolerated and came prepared for the heat, but not the hunger, boredom, and muscle strain. This backache was endured with resolve b/c you had a ticket to ride. A ride that would last just slightly longer than it takes to make it to the bridge of your favorite song when you start to sing it from the top. Maybe you had even saved up for weeks to spend hours of your short life with your children, friends, or loved ones, not talking or laughing but staring ahead at all the other heads in front of you.

Well, the welfare office is exactly the same experience. Except the small children, teenagers, strange adults, and yourself are all waiting, not for pleasure and amusement, but for money to buy food and maybe pay for running water. Not housing or rent, that is section 8, a completely different department with a waiting list that stretches 2 maybe 3 years into the future. FYI, the first requirement for receiving housing assistance, as it placidly called, is that you have to be on welfare. But at least, you didn't have to pay to be there. Admittance was free because no one wants to be there.

Then, out of the clear blue sky one morning, that was just as beautiful as the morning I was fired, a voice mail and an email about possible work.

Which turned out to be real and not just some headhunter trying to justify their employment existence to their boss. A real contract work assignment. Work that you were uniquely qualified to do after spending 3 years and $89,000 obtaining a law degree. And were restricted to doing because you had no law license and could not afford to attain. Talk about a catch-22.