Today is the final day of November. A year that has inspired a profound amount of emotion begins to breathe its final twelfth starting tomorrow. For some, 2016's exit from the stage shall be met with applause. For others still, its exit will be viewed with a sense of wistful sadness. For me, it will be met with the same reaction as its predecessors have been, which is "Where the hell did the year go?"
I have done what it is I do for a living for close to a quarter century. I have spent the past two-plus decades defending individuals and entities, private and public, in civil lawsuits. As a general rule, all of the work I do is captured by the lawyer's measuring stick - the billable hour. Ah, the billable hour.
If you think that the notion of tracking your life one billable hour at a time is asinine - in and of itself - then wrap your head around the fact that each hour is broken down into tenths. At more than thirty-three hundred of them a year, I shall leave it to you to work out the math.
Me? I am spending the morning in rainy Manhattan taking a deposition for one of my colleagues who spent his Thanksgiving Day weekend breaking the fibula in his left leg. Poor Duncan is looking at the prospect of spending the winter trying to get around on crutches. I envy him that not at all.
That is one whole hell of a lot of one-legged tenths he shall have to navigate. Better him than me.