Willet of Celeste
Dec. 12th, 2019 09:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoOnce upon a time, I was in junior high school, and I was Catholic, but not attending Catholic school. Instead, I went to the public junior high that was maybe half a mile from my house. Because I didn't attend Catholic school, I had to go to a special class to be instructed in what I was supposed to believe. It was ordained by the powers that be that CCD (Confraternity of Christian Doctrine) class would happen on Wednesday nights. My parents were not very enthusiastic about driving around at night to pick me up, so I had to walk home by myself from the church, which was not far from my junior high school, across a busy street. One night in winter I was walking home. I was wearing a pair of pants that my parents had finally bought for me after repeated requests. They bought me pants, but they bought them about two sizes two large. The other kids mocked me by calling them my "elephant pants." They were an unenthusiastic shade of green. However, they were better than nothing, especially in the winter when a cotton dress was an invitation for the chill winds to blow where the sun never shines, at least not in Michigan. There was some construction going on at the junior high, with boards lying about and excavations taking place. I walked across an expanse of ice that I thought was covering the asphalt drive. Oops--it was a deceptive surface of ice over a big pothole filled with icy water. I went in up to my knees. It was a rude shock. I floundered out, looking around to make sure no one was watching, because I was embarrassed by my failure of situational awareness. Luckily home was only half a mile away, so I didn't actually get frostbite, but it was not enjoyable to slosh home in the dark. I had read too much Jack London, so the thought of freezing to death did prey on my mind even though I knew that was unlikely.
This is just a long, elaborate anecdote to explain a metaphor: I fell into a pothole of dejection today after starting to clean up papers and things in my office. I had to put away some things relating to my mother, and I started thinking again about how I need to clean out my files and probably recycle a lot of stuff related to what I once thought of as a career. It made me think too much about the past. A pothole of dejection beats the gravel pit of despair, though. You can climb out and slosh home and change. In retrospect, I will say that going to catechism class is bad enough, but being made to walk home in the dark afterwards is really adding insult to injury. It did harden my resolution to be indomitable--though I doubt that was the intention when they made me memorize the Baltimore Catechism. Post-pothole in the present, I retired to my blanket fort and did a pretty good job of cheering up.
Before the pothole, the electrician came to install a new outlet in the basement, so the dehumidifier and sump pump installed by the waterproofers can be conveniently plugged in without trailing their cords across the floor. It looks much better now. The Sparrowhawk took my Christmas cards and mailed them, and got more stamps. I put away laundry and cleaned the bathroom, and I did at least get a start on tidying my office.
The Sparrowhawk went out to visit with another friend from work--a nice guy who used to work for him and now works in another department. This friend sent his greetings to me and expressed his enthusiasm for me. Apparently he thought I was very supportive of the Sparrowhawk, and he admired that. He recalled the Belshazzar's Feast of a Christmas party that Evil Boss invited us to in 2017, on THE FINAL DAY of the Sparrowhawk's employment--thanks to him. I did not want to go, mainly because I felt I could not trust myself to behave, but the Sparrowhawk, sweet soul that he is, thought Evil Boss was trying to do something nice for him and wanted to attend. The Nice Guy reminisced about seeing me at that party, and commented that I didn't hold anything back. He recalled me as saying "I don't know why the fuck I am here." I don't THINK I used the f-word, but I may have. I was in a mood for blood. I helped myself to the Evil Boss's expensive bourbon without being invited. I recall opening a fresh bottle and offering it to all comers after I'd had the first shot. The Sparrowhawk was coming down with the worst cold I've ever seen. I marched up to Evil Boss and said, "The Sparrowhawk is not feeling well. We're leaving now." He stammered something along the lines of "Merry Christmas." I looked him in the eye and said, without a trace of a smile, "[Name redacted], GOODBYE." Well . . . aren't we glad we don't have to see THAT guy ever again.
This is just a long, elaborate anecdote to explain a metaphor: I fell into a pothole of dejection today after starting to clean up papers and things in my office. I had to put away some things relating to my mother, and I started thinking again about how I need to clean out my files and probably recycle a lot of stuff related to what I once thought of as a career. It made me think too much about the past. A pothole of dejection beats the gravel pit of despair, though. You can climb out and slosh home and change. In retrospect, I will say that going to catechism class is bad enough, but being made to walk home in the dark afterwards is really adding insult to injury. It did harden my resolution to be indomitable--though I doubt that was the intention when they made me memorize the Baltimore Catechism. Post-pothole in the present, I retired to my blanket fort and did a pretty good job of cheering up.
Before the pothole, the electrician came to install a new outlet in the basement, so the dehumidifier and sump pump installed by the waterproofers can be conveniently plugged in without trailing their cords across the floor. It looks much better now. The Sparrowhawk took my Christmas cards and mailed them, and got more stamps. I put away laundry and cleaned the bathroom, and I did at least get a start on tidying my office.
The Sparrowhawk went out to visit with another friend from work--a nice guy who used to work for him and now works in another department. This friend sent his greetings to me and expressed his enthusiasm for me. Apparently he thought I was very supportive of the Sparrowhawk, and he admired that. He recalled the Belshazzar's Feast of a Christmas party that Evil Boss invited us to in 2017, on THE FINAL DAY of the Sparrowhawk's employment--thanks to him. I did not want to go, mainly because I felt I could not trust myself to behave, but the Sparrowhawk, sweet soul that he is, thought Evil Boss was trying to do something nice for him and wanted to attend. The Nice Guy reminisced about seeing me at that party, and commented that I didn't hold anything back. He recalled me as saying "I don't know why the fuck I am here." I don't THINK I used the f-word, but I may have. I was in a mood for blood. I helped myself to the Evil Boss's expensive bourbon without being invited. I recall opening a fresh bottle and offering it to all comers after I'd had the first shot. The Sparrowhawk was coming down with the worst cold I've ever seen. I marched up to Evil Boss and said, "The Sparrowhawk is not feeling well. We're leaving now." He stammered something along the lines of "Merry Christmas." I looked him in the eye and said, without a trace of a smile, "[Name redacted], GOODBYE." Well . . . aren't we glad we don't have to see THAT guy ever again.
