The week that was: Introspection.

My dad was a "physicians relations representative" for Blue-Cross/Blue-Shield. I asked him what they do, and he said he "called on doctors". I'm still not sure what that means. He took me to his office once, and the job looked awfully dull to me, but he certainly wasn't a dull guy. Not even kind of. My dad told me more than once that you ought to love what you do for a living. He'd say that he loved what he did and he said he was good at it. While I have tough days and tough cases and, sometimes, tough clients; I love my job and I'm good at it.

I have gone through stretches in my span where I've not doubted that, as boxer Rocky Marciano said, "somebody out there likes me". As generally suspicious as I am of people's motives- all people including, especially, the "good" people and folks that are vocal in any religion or denomination- I have gone through stretches where coincidences didn't seem like coincidences and that life wasn't always random. I've mentioned before that I've felt like my prayers were heard and, on the rare occasion, even answered. I'm sure God has a sense of humor (You don't think God can use sarcasm? Check out the end of Jonah, then get back with me), and looking at the little stuff you've got a better chance to see God sometimes, than in the big stuff. Kinda like Jim Carrey parting his soup in "Bruce Almighty". Anyway, on a short, slow run today, I was contemplating my trial, my job, my place in the universe and all, and jamming to random songs on my i-Pod. As I'm limping in to the finish of a two mile saunter, I'm buffeted by Van Halen and AC/DC, and I'm thinking a little Paul Simon would sound good. I've got a quarter mile to go, about enough time for one song, and I actually asked for Paul Simon. Out of the 551 songs currently on my i-Pod, this is the song that comes on:



Right now, I got to go to Beaufort to see my baby girl. I'll talk about the trial later.