Seriously?

#filefoldersfortypeApersonalities

Things that are definitely the devil:

Whymewhymewhymewhyme?
Image from here.

kidney stones.

#notme
#someoneelse
#theypassthroughyourpenis?!
#NOMOMMYNO!
#brutal
#childbirthequivalentformen
#itrynottothinkabouthis
#ican'tstopthinkingabouthis
#imadeyoucringeibet
#sorry

The Bus Dream

There’s this dream I have. There are different versions but I call it the bus dream.

It’s a city bus. It’s big. It’s cumbersome. So many windows. Everyone can see.

There’s no one on it but me. Watching myself. Driving it.

And I’m  required to drive it. It’s my bus. I am responsible. It may appear empty to those who might be looking from the sidewalk (yet no one ever seems to be on the sidewalk anyway). But my bus is not empty. It’s filled with everything I am responsible for, everything I’m trying to manage.

And I’ve been driving this bus for so long.

Which explains why I get distracted and I forget how big the bus is. Truthfully though, I know how big the bus is. I don’t kid myself. This job is important: everything I’m absolutely steering in life is on this bus. I’ve just been driving it for a while. When a person drives something so immense, after so many years even it becomes small. And stupidly, one can forget. Or get complacent.

(Do not think this means I have ever truly grown comfortable driving this ten ton behemoth.)

So I’m driving down this street and I’m half way through some sort of cage before I even notice there is no possible way the bus can fit into this cage. Think of a cage like the construction cages they put below skyscrapers along the sidewalks; they narrow the passage and prevent pedestrians from being hit with a hammer (or other debris) and possibly to hide the new facade. It’s supposed to provide protection but anything could happen to someone who gets trapped in there. By someone. Or something. So the bus I’m driving, it’s plowing through this cage, (could someone be in there?!) and it’s cutting through the sides of the bus and I’m cutting through the cage and that’s when I realize I'm not. Nothing is happening. Nothing. There’s no sound, no scraping of metal on metal, no windows exploding as these objects collide because I’m driving through it like a ghost slipping through a solid wood door.

Finally I’m beyond the cage and it’s like I need to keep going and that’s when I recognize where I am: my old street, 1^st Street West, in the town where I grew up. It’s a familiar place but it’s not home. And I’m shaking so badly so I crank that bus right and then I wake up like I’m choking.

Spontaneous Combustion

     “The only thing that has to be finished by next Tuesday is next Monday.”  ~Jennifer Yane

     Apparently Jennifer Yane has never heard of spontaneous human combustion. Those wacky scientists have not yet determined exactly how or why humans spontaneously melt into piles of ash, but I think I know the reason. It’s deadlines.

     Just think about the word deadline.

     Some history on that word: according to some sources, the etymology or historical origin of “deadline” may relate back to the American Civil war. During that time, armies had no proper facilities for holding prisoners, so they would create a makeshift and inadequate prison (perhaps even draw a line on the ground around a group of prisoners) then warn them that whoever crossed the line would be shot to death. Whoa.

     Nowadays, deadline refers to “the time by which something must be finished or submitted.” Despite its much milder usage, one could argue that today’s barrage of stressful work deadlines might still feel like a sniper with a big maniacal smile on his face is hiding nearby ready and waiting to blast the next person on the wrong side of some so-called important deadline. 

     Personally, I’ve never experienced many deadline difficulties. That is, unless they are actually enforced. My point is this: people aren’t robots and stuff happens. Like really good TV programs for example. (Okay, maybe not the best excuse.) Like mangled hard-drives. Or family emergencies. Even death. Those who enforce excessively rigid and unyielding deadlines should remember that sort of shit just makes God chuckle.

     Folks need lifelines, not deadlines. Overwhelmed workers are less creative, less productive. Not exactly beneficial to the workplace, is it? And although I’m clearly no scientist, I think that when faced with merciless deadlines some people just sit down in an armchair and stare blankly at their TVs and then it happens: they spontaneously combust.

     And the saddest part of all? No one might even notice until it's too late.