At the moment, I'm going through the doldrums of what I'll classify as career PMS. I'm perpetually unhappy with a variety of things about my work, though my notion of unhappiness could change with the way the fucking ocean happens to bring in algae (or not) that day. I'm happy with my pay one minute, then the next I despise my superiors for being able to driver Mercedes' when I live in one bedroom apartment, drive a Mazda, and do all of their work for them. Then the next, "meh," I say, "it ain't so bad, at least nobody's breathing down my neck for no stinkin' TPS reports."

Or perhaps, I'll despise my coworkers vehemently for 24 to 48 hours. Thinking in my head "FUCK YOU" every time I receive a condescending email that trivializes my role, and forces me to question my personal existence. Then, when I reach the 36 hour mark, I think to myself, "aww shucks it ain't so terrible, there are jerks everywhere!" If I have to be workin' with jerks, they may as well be ones that smile at me in the bathroom.

So while all these thoughts, ideas, upsets, and frustrations roll around in my head like fat WWE wrestlers, of course they ultimately have to finish their match with some kind of solution. Today they came up with this gem: 

I'll be a lawyer!

Of course my rationalization for making this an option are third-person observations of others.

My best friend's sister is a lawyer. She appears to enjoy her work, got a great job out of law school, and is totally bucks up. So far, so good.

A good friend of mine is a self-employed lawyer. He seems to be good natured about his work, despite the fact that criminal defense is rarely a morally upright position to be in, although it is necessary and constitutionally obliged. He seems to medicate these moral pangs with prescription drugs and alcohol. But is that just the kind of fellow he is? One that enjoys his vices? I'm not certain. I've never known him any other way.

Then there's the new graduate, a friend of mine from high school, that keeps moving around and hasn't kept a legal job long enough to make a sincere determination of it's staying power.

Then I started reading the law blogs. The angry law school grads full o' piss and vinegar about the schools that steered them wrong. 

Here's one, titled slyly, "Why you shouldn't go to law school."

Well please, do tell! I'm likely to live the more negative, pauper's legal career. Because it's more than likely that I won't be getting into Harvard or Yale, and if I did, I have a husband to convince to move to such a place full of rich assholes. And that's not going to happen. 

So first there's the cost issue: Why can't everyone just be blunt about how much lawyers do or do not make? When there's such a significant investment on the line ($38,000 per year, on average), it's okay to start talking about money. I'd really love to now how many lawyers are pulling down mid-six figures. It appears to be common, but a lot of people are also bullshit artists. 

Then there are the vices: Case in point, my lawyer friend #2, mentioned above. I adore him, he's a diamond of a human, but yes, he does like his drink. And so do I, don't get me wrong. But would I love it more if I were a lawyer? Who knows, and I'm not sure my ass-size wants to take that risk.

Finally, what hit me most:

This is the job everyone wants. But no one knows what they're trying for.

That's how I feel a little bit about my job now. But moreso when I ask myself why I'd want to be a lawyer. 

If I had to say one thing I'd try for, with my superb lawyer-super-power-magic, would be furthering the separation of church and state. But that's so damned specific, it's public interest to the max. I might be on my death bed, with my $150,000 in loans before that ever happened.

When I come to the end of the WWE brawl in my head, between money and happiness, I know the answer. Money made in the legal profression will never contribute to my happiness, nor my husband's. Because I wouldn't know what I'm trying for other than a fat bank account. 

So, I'll just go back to trying to win the lottery.