befuddled
- From: boots <no@xxxxx>
- Date: Mon, 05 Jun 2006 05:56:29 -0600
At times I yearn for the life I so thoroughly escaped.
I do not miss the cubicles, the meetings, the people in the cubicles,
the people in the meetings, the idiotic project assignments, the
idiots who assigned the projects, the commute, the condo, the condo
association, the neighbors, the crowded shopping malls, the arrogant
drivers, or being an arrogant driver.
It was not an entirely bad life. The paychecks were very nice, there
was a good feeling about taking an idiotic project assigned by an
idiot and turning it into something worthwhile, and unlimited amounts
of iced cream, pizza, and rented videos helped to temporarily dull the
pain of the things that I do not miss.
But it had about it a feeling of incarcerated doom, a future
containing only more of the same, forever. So I plotted my escape.
My planning was poor but better than nothing, and when a target of
opportunity arose, I took it.
There are no cubicles here, no meetings, no commute. It seems I have
not escaped the idiotic project assignments, now it is I who assigns
them. I look around, bereft of nice paychecks, iced cream, pizza, and
rented videos, and wonder what I have gained. I sit befuddled in the
early morning not knowing what to do next.
The predawn sky lightens and I step outside. I look across the valley
before me. I can see for a hundred miles to the west. There are two
small dots in the distance, between me and the foothills of the
mountain range to the west. I know those dots represent houses
because I have seen them through binoculars, at the highest
magnification one can make out a vehicle there if it is moving. Above
the mountains the sky is pink, and above that it is blue. Only a few
wisps of clouds are visible this morning, it will be a hot one today.
Closer-in is the view down the mountain from our perch here at the
tree-house. It is not a tree-house, it is only a small trailer, but
we call it the tree-house To the left all the trees I can see are on
our own land, old-growth pines and spruces, many of them well over 100
years old. It reminds me that I need to deal with the winter's
deadfalls. In addition to the mess made last fall by the excavator.
I take a breath of the thin air. It smells of summer forrest. I
think about the missing paychecks, and I think about the bills that I
do not know how I will pay. This life too feels of a future
containing more of the same, forever. I take another breath. For
now, it is enough.
--
If I get rid of the sig a commercial will magically appear in its place, ain't that special?
.
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