sixty minutes to make life fair
I got three hours of sleep the night after I wrote my last post, and as a result felt feverish the day after. Very rarely do I feel unwell to the point of insomnia. None of the usual tricks worked. I tried breathing exercises, taking a walk, listening to classical music, but my hands still shook, my stomach twisted, and my brain would not shut off.
I took advantage of the sleepless hours to draft a closing statement, which now after hours of edits stands at four pages — nearly ten minutes when read aloud. I spent all of yesterday reading up on the law, preparing my evidence, and asking old coworkers if they'd be willing to testify1. There's still so much I don't know about what's going to happen, but I've poured my stress and frustration into these twelve total pages of evidence. Now my hands shake slightly less.
(That said, I have a blood draw tomorrow morning, and I'll be surprised if they get anything other than pure cortisol out of my veins.)
Last night I got a dreamless ten hours of sleep. Maybe all that preparation did calm my mind, or (more likely) I'd finally accumulated enough sleep pressure.
I called the court today to ask them how to submit evidence/witnesses and how long the hearing would take. Apparently the whole thing can take anywhere from fifteen minutes to an hour. It'll probably end up closer to the latter, given how long my closing statement is, and the time estimate reminded me of something Teddy Atlas used to say about what makes the sport of boxing special:
On one given night, you can get in that ring, and you can even the playing field. No matter who you are. No matter what your background. If you're determined enough. If you've trained hard enough. If you care enough! You have 36 minutes. 36 MINUTES TO MAKE LIFE FAIR!
In order to use evidence in the hearing I have to send all of it (the letters from current employees, text message receipts, and my closing statement) to not only the hearing officer, but also to my old employer, either via email or certified mail. People who've known me for a while would probably say emailing your formal employer a carefully worded Fuck You is exactly the gutsy sort of thing I've been known to do (and historically it certainly has been), but I still dread it! I'm going to do it Sunday night or Monday morning (i.e. as late as possible) and close my eyes as I hit 'Send' while hearing this inside.
I feel silly writing this all defiant when nothing's happened yet. The odds are still stacked against me, I'm still struggling, and next week feels an eternity away. I don't like to fight, especially not this sort of stressful drawn-out drama-filled legal kerfuffle, but if you leave me no choice you can trust that I'll go out swinging.
We're up to two written letters from current employees (one anonymous and the other signed with name, unbelievably) and two witnesses by phone.↩