Well, what do you know? I got a call from my broken foot lawyers who set up an appointment with me for November 3, when I am to see Marc, the guy who’s handling my case which began in January 2008, when a neighbor’s badly maintained sidewalk caused a bone in my foot to break.
I am moderately excited. I didn’t ask the paralegal who called me what this was about, just as, when I book tickets for specific concerts a year in advance, I don’t write in my date book what I’m going to hear because I love surprising myself. (Yes, I do that: I get to Lincoln Center or wherever, acquire a program, look inside and say, “Oh what a wonderful concert this will be! Whoever booked this, thank you!”)
I’d like to think we’re going to discuss settlement numbers. But long ago I trained myself out of a powerful fantasy component in my psyche, because when reality arrived, I was always crushed with disappointment. Even when reality wasn’t that bad, it was never as wonderful as I dreamed.
So I have no expectations. When I hear the real number, I’ll let you all know.