“Her voice was ever soft, gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman.”

The good news keeps coming. It’s amazing how God gives you relief when you start thinking about his priorities and trying to tell the truth about yourself.

As people who read the blog know, my dad is buying a large property in northern Florida, and I will be the major domo. He will be Robin Masters, and I will be Higgins. With better shorts.

“Remove yourself from Mr. Masters’ lawn or I shall release the lads.”

Yesterday I was talking to the realtor about a survey, and the realtor pointed something out. The northern boundary of the land–the second-longest boundary–is bordered by an 85-foot-wide strip that runs its entire length. The strip is wooded, and it is made up of two parts, each of which belongs to a different neighbor. It was intended to be two driveways, to provide access to their land. Bonus for me: they decided not to build driveways. There was no reason to. There is already a public road that reaches their land, and they don’t have to pay to maintain it.

This means I have an 85-foot-thick barrier of woods between me and my neighbor to the north, and it will remain wooded for the foreseeable future. Another possibility: I could buy the strips eventually and keep people off for good. No one will ever want them except me and my neighbor to the north.

This is the biggest blessing I could have hoped for, short of a spray that makes neighbors evaporate.

Of course, my neighbors are probably great. I have a bad attitude toward neighbors because I’ve lived in Miami, listening to Celia Cruz through my windows at 1 a.m. and having neighbors’ party guests park all over my yard without asking.

There is also very bad news. I am still listening to continuing legal education materials. Right now, it’s a discussion of the process of altering the Florida constitution. It’s a bunch of men and one woman. The men are okay, but the woman screeches like Gloria Allred sitting on a red-hot spoon. You can probably hear her as I type this. Somewhere in the feminist manifesto, it says men won’t respect you unless your voice sounds like a subway train hitting the brakes. She who talks loudest is respected most.

Life doesn’t actually work that way, but the notion obviously sells.

How low can I turn this down without secret snooping bar software squealing on me? My God. This woman has to be single.

Please shut up. Let someone else talk. Please, lady. I’ll stop manspreading. Whatever it takes.

When I turn her down to the point where I’m not in agony, I can’t hear the men.

“YARP YARP YARP YARP LEGAL LANDSCAPE YARP FACEBOOK YARP YARP YARP ESTROGEN.”

Did Beethoven really go deaf, or did he jam conductor’s batons through his eardrums so he could finally concentrate on his work? Was he married? I don’t even know.

“YARP YARP YARP YARP I’LL GET YOU MY PRETTY.”

I’m going to tough it out. This video is “only” 2.5 hours long, and you get 3 general credits and 1 ethics credit. Ethics credits are the hardest to find. It’s a shame you can’t steal them.

I’m going to pause it after I’m halfway through. I have limits.

I’m still not done packing my books. I’m up to 29 boxes. I couldn’t pack them all. I have to have something to read until the move. I figure I’ll hold 50 books back. Once I’m done with the books, things should speed up, because instead of doing an item-by-item inventory, I can just dump things in boxes and apply labels like “KITCHEN.”

Anyhow, things are going pretty smoothly, given that I have no help whatsoever. I cannot wait to kiss this place goodbye, and by “kiss,” I mean “spit on the ground while shaking my fists.”

Back to CLE. Surely things will get better. Surely they tased this lady at some point.

Have a great day.

More

This is funny. I texted another lawyer.

Me: Found a bunch of free CLE. Almost as wonderful as free enemas.

Her: I think I’d prefer the enemas.

Me: I checked. The bar won’t give credit for enemas.

Her: That’s bc those are useful tools.

Then later:

Me: Enemas are brief.

Her: And more productive.

Everyone hates CLE.