I sometimes ask myself, am I a lawyer who wants to be a writer, or a writer who has to be a lawyer.
It’s a bit like the Chinese philosopher who had a dream about butterflies, then woke wondering if he was a philosopher dreaming he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he was a philosopher.
(That one is easy. No one dreams they are a philosopher. Too dull.)
This Day Gig of mine, practicing the law and trying to help normal people in their legal nightmares, takes up a lot of time. Just this morning I spent 2 hours on the I-15 heading toward San Bernardino (from the Ranch House in Barstow) just to get to court on time. When I got there, I was told the opposition (who represents herself) was giving birth to a baby and the case had to be continued. You’d think my client, who was well aware of the circumstances, might call me to save me a trip. You’d think.
Ah, but the lawyer is the last one anyone thinks about.
When I started in the law back in 1987 (!) it was exciting. I was a young public defender and every one of my cases was exciting, fascinating, enraging, strange.
Now I am a solo lawyer (not necessarily by choice) and my family law calendar tends to be the same complaints over and over. The supervised visitation place is not doing its job, one client will call to complain. I don’t want his mother there when he’s visiting the child, another client complains. She’s not following the order–she’s picking him up half hour late, another client screams.
Sigh.
I am supposed to be the boogey man who scares these opposition parties into doing the right thing. Supposed. But that’s not in my nature.
Every morning I wake, looking forward to the day I can tell the courts to do without me, the day I can withdraw from the law and spend my days writing brilliant books.
Every evening I drag myself home, the clients and lawyers and judges having drawn every ounce of energy from me. It’s amazing I write at all.
But maybe I am a butterfly having a terrible dream that I am a lawyer. If so, when I woke in the clutches of a spider, there wouldn’t be much change in my attitude.
Mark Bruce, Writer 
Let your butterfly nature make friends with the black widow spider and sic her on the courts. That should solve your problem.
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Sure, let’s make it a TV series: Butterly and Widow. It would have one episode and it would not end well for the Butterfly. The Widow would think it was a cooking show.
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No, no, no! The butterfly is more clever than that. It can fly away and easily escape the widow’s clutches, then redirect the widow’s aggressive hunting instincts toward the court system. Think Muhammud Ali.
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There is no Muhammad Ali butterfly. He said he floted like a butterfly and stung like a bee. A black widow does not sting like a bee. It eats butterflies. And anything else it can get its legs into. It would eat a small child if it was possible.
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You win. I give up.
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