Vacation Looms Large!!!

As any lawyer will tell you, the stress of this job can quickly turn you into, well, a piss pot. Such has been my state the last few weeks - cranky, stressed out - an ill-tempered shark with a frickin' laser beam strapped to my head. I'm long overdue for a real vacation - and tomorrow it begins!!

I'm hoping to come back a little more even-keeled, centered, and ready to bear my proverbial fangs in the zealous pursuit of justice. There's nothing like a week away from the law to give perspective on the law. No cell phones, email - just me floating in the ocean. Que Bueno!!

On the Move Again

With my impending vacation just four days away, and my move to a new apartment scheduled for the day after I return, I decide to get serious about the process of packing my life into little 2' x 2' boxes.

Moving, for me at least, is a very illuminating process, and given that I seem to be doing it every couple of months lately, that's a lot of self-examination. With each move, I find myself examining this collection of things that I cart around with me, shedding the things that no longer serve me, and entertaining new visions of what I would like to create instead. What surprises me most is not the things that I want to keep, but the sheer number of things I could care less whether they make it to the new destination in one piece. While my sister is a very meticulous packer and preservationist (read: Pack RAT), I find only a few things give me pause enough to really pack them carefully: a set of candle holders that have illuminated some of my most beautiful memories; family photos in frames carefully chosen by loved ones; a set of pots that my mother bought for me for no reason other than she wanted to surprise me with a gift.

I throw away (and give away) a lot of things when I move. My sister, god bless her, is always right behind me, rescuing things from the trash with a disapproving shake of the head and a "You can't throw that away!" or my favorite, "But you could get money for that!" I could, but really, who cares? For me, those things are a remnant of a life already lived, a relic of the past rather than a part of the future I want to create. And my giveaways create a virtual free-for-all of joy on CraigsList - people calling me at 11:40 at night to come get the free desk or set of left-handed golf clubs. It makes me happy to see those things go onto their new life with no deals, bargaining, or money changing hands. My favorite part is meeting the wonderful people who come to pick up my stuff: parents who needed a desk for their teenage son; a family of five who obviously didn't have much money but were estatic about new couches; a husband who wants to share his love of golf with his wife. Those moments are, in the words of the credit card commercial, priceless.

I Contemplate a Nervous Breakdown

So, here's the thing they don't tell you when you're applying for law school. The practice of law is stressful with a capital "S." As a mere yute (yes, "My Cousin Vinny" references will be used freely in this blog), the practice of law holds promise - a power to right wrongs. There's a wonderful phrase etched into the southern wall of the UT Law School that used to stop me in my tracks: "That they may truly and impartially administer justice." I filled out the application for law school with all of the fresh optimism of youth, having no idea what awaited me around the bend.

Today, a convergence of events had me, quite literally, ready to tear my hair out. As I was driving to meet a friend for lunch, I passed a bumper sticker that said, "If God doesn't give us more than we can handle, then why do people have nervous breakdowns?" A solid point, and one I was ready to acknowledge might be descriptive of my current situation.

Forget my last pollyanna post. The responsibility of having someone's future in your hands at my age is no small thing. It keeps you up a night, makes you sick to your stomach when you least expect it, and invades every area of your life when you're not at work. In retrospect, I think I would have liked to be a poet or a farmer. They get to sleep at night (well, maybe not the tortured poet, but I would have been the contemplative kind). And for folks who think their lawyer doesn't care - just because you can't see it (and I have a professional responsibility not to be freaking out with you), doesn't mean I'm not worrying myself into knots on your behalf.

Which brings me to the concept of professional distance - the strange euphemism that you can somehow shut off your human-ness and be a detached part of what's going on. They actually teach courses in this stuff in other professions, such as medicine, and they probably should start doing it in law school as well. It's a valuable skill that lets you do your job and respond to the situation at hand without disintegrating into a useless pile of jello.

As wracked as I am though, I don't want to be detached. My concern for my clients keeps me working well into the late hours of the night, determined to find the argument or case law that will help make their case. The moment I become apathetic is the moment I need to find another profession. While it may eventually qualify me for prescription meds or a straight-jacket, my concern might just be the difference between a conviction and a two-word verdict. Or so I hope.

My First Felony One

The indictment says "Aggravated Robbery with a Deadly Weapon - F1." F1 is short for first degree felony. As I look at the charging instrument, it hits me. The moment of truth has arrived. I have been hired on my first first-degree felony.

As a baby lawyer, I have the good sense to appreciate the gravity of the situation. This is as serious as it gets, short of a capital charge carrying the possibility of a death sentence. With the return of this indictment, my client (who, unbelievably, is actually even younger than I am) now faces a charge that carries a term of imprisonment of 5-99 years in the penitentiary. Cases this serious normally go to lawyers with a lot more grey hair on their head (or no hair at all, as the case may be). I, on the other hand, have only found one grey hair so far, and its offending presence was quickly remedied.

The case is assigned to one of our more conservative judges (bad news), and has a deadly weapon allegation, which means that if convicted, you serve 1/2 any prison sentence day-for-day (even worse news). The prosecutor and I, to put it mildly, do not see eye-to-eye on how to resolve this case. Despite all of these things, and the intimidation I feel about finding myself in this situation at the ripe old age of 29, I find another emotion in the mix . . . would it be preverse to call it excitement?

This is what I wanted to do with my life. While many of my friends practice comfortably in high rise buildings, I wanted to be a trial lawyer. I wanted to be in the trenches, on my feet, battling for clients every day in court. I wanted to fight for the least of those in society, to understand how and why things happened, and to tell their story in such a way that a group of their fellow citizens could come to identify with (and acquit) them.

It's no small task, and I wonder everyday if I'm up to it. I tell myself that nothing great in this world was achieved without risk. I remind myself that a trial is nothing more than a democratic decision about the rightness (or wrongness) of a person's conduct. In the words of Wayne's World, "Game on!"

Exciting Monday Morning News

Some people anxiously await the start of their favorite television series. Others can't wait for the beginning of a sports season - baseball, football, you name it. I don't really follow either. Here's what made my Monday morning: the realization that the 2007 Supreme Court audio has been released. I've been checking on and off for the last month, knowing it was coming, and today my diligence paid off. While I'm partial to Jeff Fisher arguments (and am listening to Kennedy v. Louisiana as I type), the 2007 term had a number of interesting arguments on criminal procedural issues. The 2008 term looks to be busy as well, with the Court taking on a number of Fourth Amendment cases and a further examination of the scope of the confrontation right in Melendez-Diaz v. Massachusetts. Like all sports and TV series fans, today's rush of contentment and excitement will inevitably fade into a dry spell in the time following these arguments but preceding next year's release. In the meantime, I'm savoring each one. :)

Jail Call in Travis County Darkens my Sunny Disposition

Formally known as the "Jail Reduction Docket," this is perhaps the worst part of my job. Each day, 20 to 30 inmates being held on misdemeanor charges in the Travis County Jail are brought to court to try and settle their case. The defendants are poor, unable to hire an attorney, and for the most part, desperate to get out of jail as quickly as possible.

I had serious reservations about getting involved in this type of appointment system. I couldn't imagine a worse practice of law than introducing yourself to someone for the first time, and 20 minutes later, pleading their case out. My time working for the innocence clinic taught me that not investigating and really defending a case has serious ramifications for the client. A criminal conviction is never a small thing - who you are today is not who you will be ten years from now, and in Texas at least, final convictions never come off your record.

But, I thought, (cue Pollyanna) maybe I could have a positive impact on the process. I could go out and meet with clients in advance to get to know them and their situation. Which I do. (Sadly, most clients respond with a confused "I've never had a court-appointed lawyer come and see me before court before" - which simply confirmed my concerns about the appointment system). I could do what investigation and issue spotting needed to be done in advance and talk to the client about it before the jail call setting. Which I do. I could try and get information on collateral issues that affect them, like outstanding surcharges on their license that could result in them being rearrested. Which I do.

If the case ends in a plea bargain, the county pays a flat fee of $175.00 - whether you spent 10 hours or 10 minutes working on case. Which leads me to what happened today and why my mood could best be described as "foul" right now. I was appointed to a case, did my usual work up - spent about 4 hours preparing the case and arranged for the client to get out of jail today. I show up in court only to find out that the family has retained another attorney, who did not bother to let me know he's on the case.

I'm not upset in the least that they hired another lawyer - it's your right to have counsel of your choice. What aggravated me is that (1) no one told me, so I wasted a bunch of time and (2) the county only reimburses you if you obtain a disposition on the case (so, if you're going to be all mavericky and do the work you are ethically bound to do on a case, you will not be compensated (at all) for your time unless you happen to be there at the end of the case); and (3) I did about an hour of running around on this case IN HEELS, which makes my toes hurt and does little to improve my mood.

After spinning my wheels today, I can see why some lawyers decide to do as little as possible on court appointed cases. Despite my frustration today, I will continue to work the cases the way I have been, even though the economics of it suggest I do otherwise. I took an oath three years ago to vigorously represent every future client, and I meant every word of it. And there is no dollar value for the look on a client's face when they realize the extra steps you took on their case.

I don't like posting bitchy bits, so I'll end on a positive note, Academy Award style. I'd like to thank my agent, for never giving up on me . . . just kidding - but seriously - Thanks and a shout out go to Austin, TX criminal defense attorney Rick Reed, who graciously endured the long elevator ride down with me today while I spewed my frustation; the runner for the newly hired attorney, who acknowledged that I wouldn't be paid for my work and at least looked like he felt bad when I handed him my complete file which would save them hours of work; and our wonderful legal assistant Adrienne Deal who, upon hearing this story, validated my emotions and normalized my reaction with a "Not Fair! They all suck - WHOEVER they are!" - you're the best.