I'm learning some of the emotional realities of litigation. The waiting, the uncertainty. I had a hearing scheduled for Jan. 27 to start the process of trying to sue to get my job back, a hearing to start at 1 pm. My lawyer submitted a long list of names of people to subpeona for testimony, and the referee (judge) initially demurred, saying let's call the first few, get through the first day, and see how many more we need to call. That was a hint. When World War I started, everyone thought, aww, we'll be home by Christmas. They were wrong then, too.
Now the opposing lawyers have submitted a letter that, in addition to trying to quash a bunch of the subpoenas (not surprising -- if I were on the other side I wouldn't want these people to testify either), has asked for a continuance to a later date. They are saying that a certain requested person both 1) shouldn't be subpeoned, as being irrelevant and 2) is going to be out of the country anyway. Jeez. Can we be consistent here?
Obviously the legal wrangling has begun in earnest. What struck me, even surprised me, was how depressed I got when I got this letter. It's obviously an opening round in a series of legal negotiations, possibly short, possibly interminable. But I just hadn't realized how much I was counting on Jan. 27 as the day when at least something would start to be resolved.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
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The whole thing sucks. I could say more, but. Nah.
You used my real name over at mine. I edited that out after considering it awhile. Really didn't want to bother but after awhile decided I still don't know what that blog will bring me and may as well keep the distance. Of course, this was two whole days after you posted it.
Anyway for childhood home I used Berkeley. I really don't think about Orinda much. I was only six.
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