Fraught with the damaging effects of a negative anticipatory first day back, my glorious return to man-flesh occurred in the twinkling of an eye and a flash of light. I was spectacular as I arrived on site with three dozen donuts from local Anna PT DONUTS, announced by self-proclaimed donut connoisseurs to be among the best they've ever had, handshakes all around, then facing a very different landscape than the one I left. Several more had either quit, or were let go, and many new faces surrounded them with the promise of more new faces to come, and more familiar faces to depart (of their own accord). I sighed the deep sigh of the Babylonian king Belshazzar who watched the enormous Mitt of God emblazon the interior of his edifice with foreboding and doom.
Its a game of cloak and dagger versus cat and mouse I play with my employer, providing them feedback as to their effectiveness in my life as they provide theirs to me. Sometimes to see who can outlast the other and other times to see who can trump the other. Between work and home now that the kids are out of school and my period of enlightenment has concluded, I feel as if I'm being dropped through Carl Sagan's Contact Machine as simply as the line was written through the circular arrows in Cobb's drawing to explain manufactured reality to Inception's Ariadne. I wander the timeless wormholes of my imagination ceaselessly while real life passes much more quickly than dream time. Yet still, I run out of hours.
Back when Rebecca DeMornay was ultra-hot she gave some advice about riding on trains. Now I don't know about you, but on the tracks in Germany and England I had mixed emotions about finding it so pointedly true. Gentle rocking back and forth is good for lots of things, and when I was a young man in a rear-wheel drive V8 finding myself on a field of mud in polyester tires (happened more often than you'd think) I found it was good for getting out of ruts too. Another metaphor of life being harshly illuminated. I don't find myself in many of those these days, neither the ones created from moist earth nor those which are offspring of perdition. Then again rocking slowly to the beat of your own drum is often considered more psychologically suspicious than marching to it.