forward more and backwards less

it just turned summer somewhere between friday and monday – i can’t quite tell when because I was well and truly out of it all day sunday. But it’s 75 already and headed the general direction of 90, and i can NOT get my head around the concept of work today. I keep thinking, don’t […]

it just turned summer somewhere between friday and monday – i can’t quite tell when because I was well and truly out of it all day sunday.

But it’s 75 already and headed the general direction of 90, and i can NOT get my head around the concept of work today. I keep thinking, don’t go don’t go don’t go. Only thing is, work laterly has nothing to do with progress, it has to do with run-as-fast-as-you-can-to-slow-the-backwards-motion. Which, in a word, sucks, and which drains me slowly of all will to work.

It’s goin’ to hell anyway, I think; instead of fighting it, let’s facilitate it.

There’ part of me that wants to step back from anything that looks like a sinking ship and add fire; if it’s going down, send it down in a spectacular fashion. Don’t just crash your car, roll it and send it off a goddamn cliff.

I don’t like to do things in small ways. Subtle, to me, means use a smaller sledge hammer.

Of course the sinking ship and crashing car analogies are hyperbole; nevermind though. That’s the feeling the struggle sometimes has, when the struggle is not toward good or great, but toward mediocrity, and when the cause of the struggle is corporate strategy meets corporate schedule. The result for me is an excercise in frustration, and of all things, I tolerate ongoing frustration least well.

But let’s get back to summer. Because it’s summer, when the sun shines and the clothing decreases, when skin darkens, that I most long for days by the sea, boats, the scent of sweat and coconut and rum. I walk out into the bone-dry northen california heat and wish, desperately, for that island-dark girl who’s supposed to be bringing me my drink.

Instead, I spend a monday morning, as the mercury creeps up, in a DMV waiting line to replace a lost driver’s license. No sea, no rum, no coconut. No beautiful dark-haired, nut-brown girl beside me on glittering black sand. No salt on my skin, no smell of ocean, fruit, tropical flowers. No afternoon trade winds. Just a queue, bored government workers, a large room filled with people who wish, like me, to be anywhere else.

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