Biglaw life

It's St. Patrick's Day.  Being named Erin, I typically have a lot of fun on this holiday.  I have memories of drinking green beer at 9 am and not being the only one in the bar.  I have memories of my time in San Francisco with Kathy wearing a ridiculous hat and getting all mad when the Irish pub called last call at 11 pm (which is kind of ridiculous, you must admit). 

But this is where I am apparently spending my St. Patrick's Day this year:

If you think that looks an awful lot like my office, that's because it is my office.  Not even my home office.  My work office.  "But wait!" you may be thinking, "I thought you quit!  What are you doing at your office?"  Well, that's a very good question.  Because I'm writing this, you have probably gathered that I am not working.  I am waiting.  I am waiting for a document to be marked up by a partner, so that I can scan it and send it to word processing to run edits.  A partner I actually like. 

I am not just waiting, though.  I am missing the opportunity to celebrate St. Patrick's Day when it's in the 60s and sunny.  Today I had to go to court, and on the way back to the office, I saw not one, not two, but THREE wasted girls almost get hit by a tour bus stumbling into the street.  I should be part of that!  But no.  Because my last day is April 1, and not March 16, I am sitting here.

At the very least, I could be home with Kathy eating corned beef.  Or jogging in Central Park, enjoying the weather.  It is actually taking all of my reserves of self control not to just walk out of the office -- I am told I must not burn bridges, after all.

Oh wait.  I just got the document back, and more work.  So, have a beer for me.  It does not look like I am going anywhere.