writer's debate

I was racing my XKJ silver convertible Jaguar through the lush green winding country side. I had a 500 foot cliff side ocean view with 30 foot white peaked waves rushing and crashing into the jagged-rock coves below. The wind was blowing my Fabian like hair in a stream behind my broad shoulders with queer fluidity. I was clad in my dark blue Armani suit and the only "thing" missing was the beautiful long-legged undercover lover/nemesis "Miss Octopussy." The name is Sam, Sam Bond. "Sam...[pause] uhmm hey Sam! I don't know where you are right now but you need to come back to earth and fast. I told you I need to have that Notice of Intent filed with DOPL today--if it doesn't get filed today the SOL runs and if the Firm gets sued for legal malpractice--you're going to be SOL as in out a job buddy!" said my smugly smirking boss startling me out of my lucid day dream. "Yes, Sir, I mean Richard." I kept forgetting to call him Richard as he has agitatedly asked me to do on numerous occasions--but I figure Sir is better than accidentally calling him something short for Richard as in Dic**! which is the name I refer to him in my my mind and to my beer buddies when telling my work woes. I had become accustomed to my boss rudely awakening me out of my fantasies while drafting docs at my computer. "It's almost finished Di..Richard," I stammered. God! Give a guy a break! I'm friggin' 35 years old; I was supposed to be a high-power partner by now. I work my butt off to no avail and get treated like crap! At this rate, I'll never make partner! My life is nothing like I envisioned--you know, the high-power attorneys John Grisham writes about in his books. Where's my Stepford wife, my two kids, my white picked fence, my Mercedes, my vacation home in the Bahamas, oh and yeah my hot mistress. Ugh! I didn't go to 7 years of college hell to be treated like a lowly associate at 35. I guess I have kind of lost myself in the last ten. I wasn't always this greedy, non-integrous and negative. After umpteen curve balls from life--I gave up on dreams, love and happiness. I got married right after law school to a beautiful woman (who insisted on a traditonal Catholic wedding). God I loved her! I really did! At least as much as any run of the mill dysfunctional red blooded American boy is capable of. One year later, we lost 2lb premature twins at birth. It turns out all she really cared about was being a mother like it was her sole purpose in life and nothing else mattered, including me. Before we lost the twins, I was actually looking forward to having a couple of rug rats around. The death of the twins and my wife's determination or more like crazed obsession to become a mother come hell or high water sank me into a deep depression. My reprieve from the depression/life is spending most nights after work and on the weekends at a bar called McGee's where I pound down as many hearty Irish brews as it takes for me to feel like I'm somebody again. McGee's is a "yuppie" bar but not in the sense of argyle socks and sweater vests but as in a place where well-educated guys hang out to drink a quality beer--the kind of guys that wouldn't buy a Coors or Miller Light if it was the last beer on earth. That's where I hang out with a couple of guys I went to law school with but mainly I hang out with Greg. Greg is my best friend. He isn't an attorney but we grew up in "high society" together. He comes from affluence like me but where I conformed, Greg rebelled. He refused to be a clone of his uptight, corporate, snobby monstrosity of a father. The more his father pushed, the more Greg rebelled. He went to work for a big time commercial construction company and worked himself up the ladder. Greg is my age, has bronzed skin from supervising hours in the sun and is built like a body builder. He has a Marlboro man face, the kind the ladies go crazy for. He has a steady mind, even-keel personality and is a salt-of-the-earth type of person. He's talked me through many breakdowns over the past 10 years. Still, I hate my job, I'm not over losing my wife, I drink too much, I'm depressed, sometimes suicidal and I have begun to believe that happiness is not something I deserve anymore much less will ever attain. Now, I am not telling you all this to sound like a downer or a pathetic and hopeless victim but rather to preface an amazing experience that has transformed my life forever! "It's just another Manic Monday, Wish it was Sunday...." The alarm clock went off at 7:00 a.m. sharp like it usually does every dreaded hum drum Monday morning. What can I say, I like 80's music, and ya gotta love the Bangles. Hey, go figure the coincidence of the lyrics. I hit the snooze a million times and then finally got myself in gear to go face Dic** Wad at the lousy law office. Just so happens on this particular day, my car breaks down on the way there. Crud!!!! Talk about when it rains it pours. Ironically enough it was pouring outside and I was getting drenched looking under the hood of the damn car. Ha! Like I knew what the heck to do or look for under the hood of a broken down car being the white collar dork that I am. The last thing I need is car trouble and to give Dic** another reason to lay into me 'cuz I'm late for work! I closed the hood, took a deep breath and bowed my head for a minute. No, I wasn't praying--probably should have been but I've never really was a "God" man. I pulled out my cell phone and was about to call a tow truck and a cab when I looked up and saw the Holland City Public Library. God who goes to a public library anymore? Aren't they outdated?! But for that matter who wakes up to a clock radio anymore. Yeah, I know...me. After calling and telling the receptionist that my car broke down and I'd be in later, I said to myself "what the heck! I am going into the library to get out this damn rain and relax a minute." As I walked through the double doors a flier caught my eye. The words on that flier changed my life forever. Problem: Main character hates his life! Big problem to solve. Good luck Philosophical :)