Pebbles in the Coffee Can

It's November and it would normally be colder than it is, but I will not quibble with the temperature outside that allows me to open my windows.  The faint susurrus of wind on the leaves is soothing.  It pleases me.  A train horn blares across the river, the mechanical din only sweetening the sounds of the night.  The storm inside my head finally breaks.

These mental tempests arise suddenly, linger far too long and always leave me drained and vaguely ashamed.  I know I should not feel that way.  The stresses and petty annoyances of life will always come and go.  To be wrapped up in them is a sure path to being a malcontent, as I know to my deep chagrin.

The day was a few clouds, a lot of sun and breeze.  The sky was pretty and the air inviting.  I had rattled around in the box that is my home for most of the day when I suddenly felt the walls closing in me.  It was time to leave.  I absconded to my favorite local park, for what I hoped to be a soothing meditation on walking around the lake.  It was not to be.  Too many distractions, too many stresses intruding on my mind.  Bills. Upcoming loss of health insurance.  Joblessness.  Being separated from those whom I love.  Feeling helpless in the face of strife.  I spiraled further down into a full-blown funk.

Not even the antics of the geese and golden sunlight could blow away the fog.

I came home and turned off the phone and the computer.  I opened the windows.  I took to the kitchen, hoping that chopping vegetables, making rice and stirring the pan would provide the balm I needed.  It worked, to a degree.  The meditative quality, the deliberation needed to do it right, both provided diversion.  As a bonus, I had a delicious dinner, too.  My own version of comfort food, though I have no name for the dish I made.

I watched the evening news as I ate, perched on the couch.  I held the heavy white porcelain bowl close, feeling the warmth of the peppers, chicken and rice seep into my hands.  Chewing became hypnotic.  The tension in my shoulders and neck began to ease.  The pervading metallic tang of  discontent fading in the simple act of chew and swallow.  I was mildly surprised when I looked down to see the bowl was empty.

Afterwards, I turned off the television.  I turned, as I often do, to write something.  The image I could not rid from my mind was that of pebbles in a coffee can, tumbling down a never-ending hill.  All the troubles, fears, and insecurities so many rocks banging against the container of my brain.

So I sat still, next to the open window by the dining table, and let the gentle hands of the wind massage my temples.  The din subsided.  I saw the coffee can come to rest, perhaps hard up against a tree or buffered by a thicket somewhere.  I sent up a small prayer of thanks.  The wind nods it head, and whispers sweet nothings.

Contender Blues

The bubble popped and I snapped awake.  Years, gone, and where did I wake up?

I had one of those moments today, of ennui spiced with dislocation, and a dash of mild anxiety.  It was induced by a chance encounter via email.  The email came from a professional networking website and it was chock full of catalysts and memory triggers in the form of "what-have-you-done-since..." blurbs.  The past come back to nag me.

The feeling of being underwater has been intense in the nearly four weeks since I was let go from the job.  Some days I wander around immersed in the sensation.  I put it aside most of the day, as I had my darling daughter  with me, and it was good.

But that email brought it all back.  I scrolled through the page, looking at all the people who had been somewhere and done something and it was at the end of it that the bubble popped.  I started as if awoken while sleepwalking.  It took me a brief pause to collect myself to remind me that I was on the couch staring at the laptop screen.  I was home.

Home, and wondering just what it is that I had been doing all these years.  Picking through the battered scrap heap of my career life to try and piece together that which I could point to and say: I Did This, And I Am Wonderful.  The pickings, it seemed to me, were too thin.

Leaning back into the sofa cushions all I could think was that I need to get my stuff together.  I need to do something worthwhile and soon, as I have metaphorically been sawing off the limb behind myself.  Its only a matter of time before that limb cracks.  I need to hurry.

I need to rev the engine, pop the clutch and damn the torpedoes.  I need to get somewhere, fast.

Of Axes and Impossibilities

This post wrote itself.  Not literally, of course.  I, me, the person who is at the keyboard did the work.  The central idea, however, was ready made.

I was let go from my job today.

Third time in three years.  I must say, it is a song and dance I am mighty sick of doing.  The timing is never good, but it is absolutely horrible for me right here and now.  I am quite short in a key resource, and the steady paycheck was necessity not nicety; no fat margins for me.  Hell, no real margin at all.

I say "was".  Reality? It is a necessity, a fact driven home to me when I sat down to take stock.  The stock, sad to say, was a bit thin.

So.

I don't know what the next step may be.  I've been an architect all of my adult life.  This is the sixth time in that span that I have been laid off.  You might think the universe is trying to tell me something.  The problem, the crux of this dilemma, is that I really don't know what to do next.

That's a hell of a thing for someone who is trained as a professional problem solver.

So.

Where now?  And did you know that, coincidentally, I began blogging three years and a day ago?  Interesting.  Trivial.  Useless, maybe, as a fact.  But interesting.

So.

Where do I go now?  I don't know.  I just don't know.  I'm fleeing axefalls and running headlong into impossibilities.  It's going to take some magic.

I Didn't Get No Cheese

Tony Hayward.

Joe Barton.

John Boehner.

(sigh)

I held out as long as I could. But this did me in:

Sharron, I must be fresh as a daisy, because I'm not feeling rotten.
At least, not in the way you said it.

(sigh.)

I leave them with this little ditty, circa 1983:

Block of cheese, anyone? Quick, before it spoils!

An Intriguing Series Of Random Encounters

A little ‘amuse cerveau’ on this brisk fall Saturday…

RANDOM ENCOUNTER NUMBER 1:
A few days ago, I was over at Waffles Waffles All Day Long, where the lovely Rebekah had an amusing post about Cowboy Kittens. Funny and perhaps a little disturbing (the subject, not the author. I mean, the author is funny, the subject maybe disturbing. Or something like that. Oh, never mind.) This story came to mind while I was in a local outpost of a major bookstore chain, looking for the elusive ‘Page-A-Day Cat Calendar’. The real McCoy, mind you, that says ‘365 Cats’. No wannabe knockoff gifts for my moms, that’s for sure! While I was looking for it, I came across the ‘Bad Cats’ page-a-day calendar. This is the ‘naughty’ cousin of the one I was looking for, with ‘amusing’ and ‘hilarious’ pictures of ‘bad cats’ in action. It comes complete with silly captions. What really made me laugh was the blurb on the back. I had my camera with me so I snapped a quick picture. If it looks blurry it’s because I was giggling and trying to do it quickly so the store staff would not come after ‘the weirdo taking pictures over in Calendars!’:

Cats on toilets. Who knew this was a money-making opportunity?

RANDOM ENCOUNTER NUMBER 2:
This one was a bit nervous making. This afternoon, I had the unenviable task of travelling to my (former) office to gather my remaining personal effects. I was eager to get there and get it over with as quickly as possible. As a consequence I was not minding my speed on I-95 as closely as prudence would dictate. Near my usual exit, there is another ramp discharging cars from the right onto the highway. This afternoon, traffic there was heavy and a line of slow moving cars all bunched together was merging in front of the car that was in front of me. The car ahead of me was slowing down and trying to get over to the left. Impatient as I was, I did not decelerate as I should have when the car in front finally moved over. The next car up had its blinkers on, travelling really slow. I failed to register JUST HOW SLOW IT WAS GOING, and I nearly jammed my foot through the floor stomping on the brakes. For a heart-stopping second I thought I was going to ram right into the car in front of me. Fortunately, just before our bumpers would have collided, they sped up slightly and I slowed down just enough. I also managed to avoid being clobbered by the car behind me. Sucking in a sharp breath, it was then I noticed the sign in the back window if the car I had nearly rear-ended:

FUNERAL

On my way to clear out my former desk, and I nearly crash headlong into a funeral procession. Karma sure has a sick sense of humor.

RANDOM ENCOUNTER NUMBER 3:
It is my custom on Fridays to take my Wee Lass to a local bagel store, for breakfast before I would drop her off at day care, and I would then head off to work. We followed the routine yesterday, even though the day before had been my last at work due to layoff (see posts of 12/10 and 12/12 for illumination). This bagel store has a storefront that faces the parking lot of the shopping center in which it is located. Along the storefront is a high counter with stools, and this has become Wee Lass’ favorite perch while we eat. (For those of you keeping score, Wee Lass was eating a chocolate chip muffin; I had my twofer of a toasted sesame bagel with hummus/toasted salt bagel with lox spread. Mmmm..). Right out in front on the sidewalk is a wrought iron trash can container. Wee Lass was chewing contentedly on the muffin and staring thoughtfully at the trash can. She suddenly cocked an eyebrow, turned to me and said in a serious voice:

“Daddy, trash cans don’t have feet.”

I didn’t quite snort tea out of my nose. I had to agree with her. The trash can did not have feet. Statements like that, though, make me wish I could channel her train of thought.