Last week I had a flash realization: I could seriously be fired for writing this blog. Of course I’m aware of this fact in theory; I’ve read every article on “the employee blogging craze” and followed each development in the relevant law with keen interest. I can cogently recite the statutory principles that enable my firm to boot my ass to the high-traffic curb should they get whift of this site.

But until last week, the whole concept that my employment could actually be terminated still seemed unreal, a sort of juxtaposed reality. The thing is, I sit here late at night and obscenely early in the morning banging out the skewed contents of my brain onto a computer screen, hit a button called “Post,” then rush to the subway in a frenzy of still-damp hair, Banana Republic khakis and sweat, fight through the cranky midtown crowds to get to the office, grab a coffee and a “Zero Trans Fat” (whatever the hell that means, as long as it has real sugar) chocolate muffin, hole up in a subzero highrise and generally go about my commonplace existence the exact same way I always have. Nothing has changed, I still come home to piles of neglected dishes and celestial clumps of cat hair dominating the sofa, I still hemorrhage cash from an artery every time I leave my apartment (like everyone else in Manhattan), and whenever possible I still gulp down bad leftover pizza for dinner rather than cook something healthy (or wait around at work until it’s late enough to charge dinner to the firm).

And yet, at the same time, everything has changed. I’ve become a virtual fugitive, a rebel of the blogosphere who could be “outed” at any moment and, as I’ve come to realize, potentially blacklisted in the legal profession. Sometimes I look at the hit counter for this site and the numbers seem completely intangible; how could so many people possibly have an interest in some random junior lawyer at yet another law firm, it must be a mistake. But according to Statcounter they do, and now I walk into the office having mentally prepared a full-scale backup plan in case this morning’s inbox contains an email from HR or a senior partner demanding an “emergency meeting.” Rent, bills, debt, cat food, they still require funding, whether or not I’m still employed tomorrow.

The truth is, sometimes I wonder if I subconsciously created this whole thing knowing that it might result in my eventual canning. Four and a half months ago, pre-Blog Era, I was creeping into work every day convinced I would be fired for sheer stupidity; they would find me out, my cover would be blown, somehow every partner in the firm would instantaneously realize that I couldn’t cut it in this field and that the firm made a colossal mistake in hiring me. So, in an effort to protect my painfully fragile ego, I subconsciously created an alternative; now, if they fire me, it’s because I maintain a widely-read blog portraying law firms in an unflattering light, not because I’m a hopeless incompetent who can barely program her speed dial let alone draft part of a motion. Phew! My pride is safely cushioned.

This wouldn’t be the first time I pulled the subconscious sabotage routine. I’ll hit an obstacle, become terrified of my potential inadequacy, and so create an alternative reason for failing, thus providing a handy pride-insulating excuse for any lack of success, as well as increasing its likelihood. The first time I took the LSATs I convinced myself that I was a lost cause, and that every one of my college peers would mentally steamroll me like a beetle on a 6-lane highway. Desperate times and measures and all, a week before the test I went out drinking until 4 in the morning, didn’t eat anything even remotely resembling actual nutrients, and as a result came down with a nasty case of bronchitis. I feverishly hacked and wheezed all through the exam, and when the disappointing score arrived, it was an inevitability - of course I got this score, I was deathly ill during the test! It’s not that these 50 pre-law people were incredibly smart and better prepared, no - I was disadvantaged, doomed by sickness to achieve mere mediocrity. So then I had a few ego-intact months to get my shit together, take the damn thing again and score 10 points higher.

But even more important than potential self-sabotage is the nagging question writing this blog has forced me to address: If I don’t like what I’m doing, why am I still doing it? “The money” is a lamer answer every time I repeat it, pretty soon I’ll be physically incapable of forming the words without instinctively smacking myself upside the head. Making six figures in your twenties is just not a valid reason for doing something you cannot stand, and I’m getting tired of constantly convincing myself otherwise. I know people (though few and far between) who are taking to this job like bacteria to a petri dish; they thrive in the law firm environment and genuinely seem satisfied with what they do, even if they dislike some aspects of the firm system. Read this blog for 10 seconds, you can tell that I don’t seem to be one of these people. Someone that I respect immensely once told me, “Do what you love, and the money will come.” Maybe its time I broke free of the Overachieving Rat Race, did some serious thinking about what I do love, and actually started considering this statement as more than just an idiom.