In the third act of THE TRIAL, the understandably cranky Joseph K., fed up with an ever-complicating bureaucratic heirarchy and a smirking world, gives his lawyer, Herr Huld, the boot. Firing your lawyer when on trial for your life (for an unknown crime, a la Guantanamo circa 2003) might seem like a Law & Order plot gone awry, but Huld wasn’t doing much good for K.’s case. He had given K. a choice between three unappealing courses of action–temporary aquittal, “hindrance,” and other postponements of certain demise–and wasn’t interested in helping K. beat his charge. Or, for that matter, even identify his charge. K. figured he would be better (or at least no worse) going pro se, and so after a trying jaunt to a tempramental artist’s hovel, he breaks the news to Huld. “Great,” says Huld. “Good idea. Now on with your case.” What? “Yes, there’s work to do.” That’s not exactly how it went; if you want to know exactly how it went I’d recommend flipping to it in the book, which I currently don’t have the energy to do…because…

I recently quit my day job, but in full Joseph K. form, I’ve ended up even more humiliated and prostrate there than before. You would think that by giving myself walking papers I’d be free of certain horrifying corporate commitments, but no, somehow I’ve spent the last two days at the worst of all possible events–the Convention For Your Work.

Hundreds of crabby dance teachers.
“Luncheons” instead of lunch.
<b<Name badges.
No coffee drinking in front of the delegates. Panels.
…people talking about carbohydrates and oh my GOD I just got MARRIED it was so amazing and oh my GOD, you DID I’m only 22, but my boyfriend is in med school, and we’ve only known each other for two weeks, but I know he’s THE ONE, and I want to get married on the beach with no shoes on and marriage is amazing and this doorknob on my hand so does NOT make me chattel! You’re just jealous!

You would imagine that my resignation would free me of name badge antics and asshole advertiser asskissing, but instead I seem to be trapped in a K. hole.

—–>”I quit.”
—>”We’re sorry to hear that. Now get to work.”
——–>”But the power’s out and I live miles away…and I QUIT.”
–>”I heard you. Now please report to the Hilton in business attire or you’ll be sorry.”
———->”But…but I quit.”
—->”Is that unautorized coffee you’re drinking in front of someone with eyes who cannot bear the thought that the editors of Dance Teacher Magazine need to eat?”

So, The Restaurant is on and I lack the energy to turn off the television.

Joseph K. got a knife twisted twice in the heart–I’ll settle for a codeine and a lot of swearing.

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