The other day, I found myself in a quandary.
The law books that formerly occupied my shelves were strewn all over my desk, full of post-its marking the pages of relevant statues and commentary.
Legal pads, each once boasting 50 pristine yellow pages, were now eviscerated, their guts strewn about the room, scribbled upon in my barely legible chicken scratch – the southpaw’s curse.
I’d Googled. I’d Lexised. I’d Fastcased.
I’d read blawg after blawg. I tried blankly staring at a computer screen, hoping for some sort of divine inspiration from the internet gods.