Lord Fitzpatrick is bringing his new caretaker -- yes, that's a very young Sean Connery, so young I think that may actually be his own hair under that hat -- to the manor house when he runs into Darby's daughter:
Lord Fitzpatrick: That Katie's a grand girl. Almost makes up for her father.I'm beginning to feel as if someone retired me and forgot to tell me about it.
Michael McBride: What ails him?
Lord Fitzpatrick: Oh nothin' at all, but he retired about five years ago and didn't tell me about it. He'll be down at the inn now tellin' stories.
The office rent is due today. I don't have it. I'll charge my malpractice insurance payment this month because I don't have that either. I have a stack of unpaid bills in my drawer here that would choke a horse. It isn't quite as bad as it looks -- but only because foolish creditors keep sending new bills every month, and they tend to pile up. It's bad enough.
I can't get paid on anything these days. My case load is down -- losing a few appeals in a row will do that for you -- and the stuff I've got left ranges between awful and impossible. I said in my post earlier today that I spent yesterday curled up in the fetal position hiding under a table.
That's a slight exaggeration. But only a slight one. I couldn't move -- I'm afraid to move. When nothing is going right, why do anything? My wife thinks I'm depressed. Depressed? If depression were a contact sport I'd be a mass of welts and bruises from head to toe.
Of course, I suppose, like Darby O'Gill, I'm sittin' here at the Inn[ternet] tellin' stories.
And now I've told this one.
And, so, back to work.