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Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Mary and Joe's Tears

Christmas Eve is tomorrow and it's going to rain.

If I had been one of the seven dwarfs, my name would have been Mopey.  Or maybe Phlegmmy, though they already had a Sneezy.  

Just glad i don't live south of the equator.  i don't think i could handle Christmas coming at the beginning of summer.  i keep threatening to sell the station and move the family somewhere north where they still have winter.  Not just four months of March.  The missus don't hold to such talk.

Hmm, random interlude: preheated seat cushions are an outstanding idea.

It's just that Christmas in general is sort of a letdown.  There's all this build-up, all this anticipation, all this ceremony and in one short, busy day it's all done.  Nothing's changed.  Life grinds on as if nothing ever happened.  i wonder if Joseph and Mary felt that way the day after?  Did they expect the world to come bow at Jesus' feet the day He entered the world?  Instead of a handful of smelly sheep-rats.  i wonder if that was part of the reason for the stable?  So the shepherds would feel comfortable.  Mary and Joe must have had continual reminders that their son was not average by any means but did life for them really change?  Did the world?  No.  Joe went on being a blue collar schmuck and Mary kept a home in their hometown and the world went right on ignoring them.  Or more importantly, ignoring their son.

Just as it does now.  We carry around this knowledge, this gift: the son of God came to earth as one of us, took all the punishment for our sin and now we are free to have a relationship with God again, and the world acts like we're nuts.  God has done everything necessary to repair all the damage that we did when we rebelled.  And we give him the big cosmic busysignal and grind on with our pathetic attempts to find meaning in chaos.

No wonder it rains on Christmas.

Friday, December 19, 2008

Diary

Freezing rain.  Again.  Still hacking.  Snot production still at maximum discharge.  Third day off in a row.  Still no writing done.  Had two days off last week.  No writing then either.  Natives getting restless.  May have to offer Kenny as human sacrifice.

Hope ship comes in soon.

Tuesday, December 09, 2008

typical day at the station

It was not supposed to be my day off.  All my tools were still at work.  i wanted to take off tomorrow when she was coming home.  By ten o'clock i was bruised, bleeding, with arms full of fiberglass, had thrown out two deceased drills, borrowed a third with which i had drilled straight through a wire, arcing the bit and forcing me to try and repair it in the dark.  i only have one way of making sure it's the right circuit breaker that i have off, see aforementioned statement about tools being at work. i haven't gotten one thing done and this was one of the easy tasks.  i'm coughing up a lung, battling the urge for arson and curling up in the fetal position sticking one thumb firmly in my mouth and balling the other into a fist that i shake at the heavens, crying to God, 

"Why?  How in the name of all that's holy and good, does this enter into the Plan???"

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

Bullet holes along Ramble Road

i don't know if it's the white-noise jamming of life or the fractured state of my mind but i can't seem to form one coherent thought here.  My two readers can probably guess what that means...
  • Bullet list!
  • When did hunters go from the predominant species in Pennslobovia to a freakish curiosity that mothers bring their children outside to see?
  • Relatedly, is our move as a civilization towards pacifism, anti-gun, anti-hunter, anti-fisherman a step towards perfection, presuming that Adam and Eve felt no need to kill, or a step towards feminization and are we losing something vitally masculine?  
  • Speaking of emasculation, you're scared now aren't you?  Where's he going to go with this?  If i even see the word 'knife' i am out of here!  Fear not, hapless reader, i am feeling more metaphysical than that.  What i was going to say before i wandered down Ramble Road again, was that i really wish i had the gift of decisiveness.  i can never decide if my inaction is the result of a holy waiting on the Lord or a frightened staying of the course in order to avoid the consequences of stepping out.
  • i think that's why i like Post-apocalyptic stories.  In my mind, the subterfuge and lies of civilization have been stripped away and life gets boiled down to a basic level of survival again.  
  • In that vein, read the Road by Cormac McCarthy recently.  Loved it.  Man's a poet.  Disturbing, but great.
  • And that's what makes me wonder... if life really was boiled down, stripped bare, hardened, would i still think it was so great?  When daily decisions have life or death consequences, when dinner isn't a question of what box to nuke but will we find something to eat if we travel in this direction or will we end up something to eat?  Would i long for these days when my direction is decided for me?
  • Not that that makes strapping the workboots back on today for another nine or ten hours of mindless, friendless, rewardless labor any easier. 
  • The key is to remember that it's not hopeless. 
  • No really, it isn't.
  • Honest.
  • i hope.