Lawsuit Lotto

The need to discern my legal options in the breach of contract have, predictably enough, been the hardest part of the contractor fiasco. The flashbacks have been horrific. The flashbacks have responded well to therapy tools, but the challenge remains. I'd druther be tending my bee barge.

The flashbacks center around the prosecution of my father on child sex trafficking charges. Certainty not available at present, but I believe he served time in 3 states on that charge. It was a long incarceration. Details unimportant to today's sorting. I still have no regrets for my part in that prosecution. I would still consider adding more states to the prosecution ring. Easily justifiable.

My father's prosecution is the epicenter of the flashbacks, but the more mind-ripping flashbacks are to the evolution of faith in lawsuit lotto and welfare scams which grew within my siblings and flourished within their off-spring. Within their conditioning, I am "The Rich Aunt." I pay my bills, so I must be rich. Yes, they have threatened to relieve me of that "wealth" with various creative lawsuits. I have yet to be served with papers, but the spirit of the threats remains. . . Please give me a word for ^it^. It has been a cultural norm for long enough that ^it^ oughta have a recognizable name by now. It wouldnae be much of a surprise to discover the contractor has been constructing a creative lawsuit since before he took my money, but I will deal with that if/when it happens. Lawsuit Lotto might be the most popular sport in our contemporary culture. Even without a family full of Lawsuit Lotto players, it is hard to ignore the threat that you, up close and personal, could be the next creative lawsuit target.

This morning finds me grateful that I started the legal review as the closing date approached and the stonewall thickened. About 3 weeks. Some of the terminology has grown familar enough that it can penetrate the distraction of the flashbacks, et al. Still taking it in small bytes and long chews. Itsy bitsy baby steps. Just breathe. . .