Reports from the Bunker

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In spite of a massive shake up at work and plenty of things to be nervous and excited about, 2pm found me falling asleep at my desk again yesterday. The VP was fired which was a bag of mixed emotions for me since he was the one that was supposed to be extending me a job offer to go full time with the company. It was announced during a morning breakfast meeting and the President then proceeded to hammer all of us about the terrible working culture we had created for ourselves, complaining that we are not respectful and professional enough with one another. He again urged us not to get so stressed and try to find the humor in how totally fucked things are operationally. From a profit perspective we are doing great.

That sense of doom crept up on me again for a bit, but I found a nice project to work on and managed to co-author an important paper with our chief architect.  For reasons still unknown to me there was a permeating smell of acetone or kerosene coming from the ventilation system, perhaps the bastards down in the factory trying to kill us? Who knows, but it was more than unpleasant.

Eventually I cruised home (to Kim and the boys, not the basement), fielding a call from my mother on the way. My mother who is convinced that I have no life to keep me busy so I must just be resentfully ignoring her. We have a complex relationship. There is no single human being on the planet for whom I have less patience and sometimes the most mundane of conversations with her can leave me feeling irritable. She is mostly deaf, has been for the better part of my life but has never learned to read lips or comprehend through context. Years of smoking and drinking have left my throat badly scarred and one of my least favorite things in the world to do is raise my voice, which I have to do with her for every conversation. Then there is her need to give advice and argue, which she loves to combine. When she is convinced that she is right about something she becomes in her stalwart defense of her position, like a dumb and savage animal, impossible to reason with. So her calling to ask for my help, turned into an argument about whether or not I should change jobs should the opportunity arise.

After the mild irritation of speaking with Mom, I arrived back at the farmhouse to find Young Farmer in the yard with a mess of chicken wire and some tools, he ran to me to explain that he was  going to “put a fence so the chickens don’t leave the property” in the event that they escape one of the coops. I looked down at the small spool of chicken wire, box of nails and hammer, then at the length of the property along the road, which may be as long as two football fields. I simply smiled at the boy, thinking to myself that while I admired his ambition the chances of success were desperately slim.

It was my intention to come in and get started on dinner, some Pesto with Fettuccine. Kim was passed out on the couch with the Senator sprawled on top of her happily watching Indiana Jones. I started gathering supplies to cook when I got a most pleasant surprise when I took the lid off of the big pot. There in the pot was a copy of Shantaram the Gregory David Roberts novel about his escape from prison and subsequent adventures in India. I had been reading it online and mentioned that I wanted to get it; the gesture made me very happy.

Then it was dinner and a long discussion about how to get me moving on catching up on my debts, I was a very stupid monkey last year and will spend a few years making up for that.  Of course the entire time I was glad for the help but mostly thinking about sex, which I was certain was coming as soon as the kids went to bed.

Unfortunately by the time she put them down, staying with YF for a bit to talk about a problem at school, exhaustion had overtaken me and I passed out on the couch five minutes into watching an episode of Caprica. Aside from lack of sleep, I cannot figure out why I am so damn tired all of the time these days.

It is once gain two o clock and my eyes are trying to close on me.


Written by jamesjanus

April 21, 2010 at 6:12 pm

Posted in Kids, Love, Rural Living, Work

Tagged with , , , , , ,