Cherubs:
Inasmuch as I am nothing, if not a populist, the following is a harsh, no-holds-barred look back at the 52+ weeks since I was invited to not return to my employer's facility. This reflection is ego-centric catharsis in response to the outpouring of care and concern for my well being, by my legion of followers.
By now, most of you know the story; last March 13th, I was summoned to the lair of the Overlord. Naturally I assumed all was well, as it was fairly common to request my assistance with one banal task or another; however, the purpose of this session was my exit conference. I must admit I was not entirely surprised, given the presence of a sulphurous odor and the unmistakable sound of the beating of leathery wings.
Naturally, this was an unpleasant turn of events, in what had, to this point been an undistinguished a career in ascent. As I sat there, listening to the pronouncement of my sentence, I considered what I believed to be 3 options; I could either be true to my nature and beat the tar out of my protagonist, feign indifference (a life skill that has never been terribly effective, but it requires little effort), or accept my fate with class and dignity. Because I felt that it would be the easiest to explain to a judge and jury, I chose the latter.
Since then, apart from a precipitous dip in disposable income, little has changed. Other than missing a few of my fellow demons, I feel no homesickness for the inferno, nor do I feel any rancor toward my tormentors. <Editor's Note: This inconsistency can only be explained one way: Stockholm Syndrome - look it up.> Although I have yet to return to the ranks of full time employment, my time is nonetheless well spent.
In the past year, I've busied myself as a landscaper, assistant utility engineer, chauffer, funeral home attendant and project manager for various hardscaping efforts. I've also been fortunate enough to make 2 mission visits to Sierra Leone. I'm currently pursuing several other avenues for part time employment, to prevent the well from running completely dry.
This life of Reilly is not without its downside however. It seems that, originally, I underestimated just how difficult it must be to endure the presence 24/7 of an unemployed sextenarian a supremely gifted generalist; this message was received more loudly and clearly, as winter set in and at first restricted, then eliminated my outdoor activities. That welcome home smile to which I'd become accustomed during my years in the workforce, inexorably morphed from a tolerant grimace at the outset, into a glum accepting nod, then finally to what can best be described as a glowering snarl whenever I entered the room.
Fear not however, détente has been achieved. An accord has been reached, the centerpiece of which is the DMZ that's been established. The breakthrough came when I swore on the lives of all my ancestors that I'd get off my dead ass and get a job patiently explained that my year of rejuvenation would eventually bear fruit, and result in obtaining employment and restoration of order to the kingdom.
So there you have it; as I enter what is now my 53rd week on parole, my spirits are soaring. Although this has been the longest freakin' winter in memory, it won't last much longer (per the calendar). I am grateful for the wellspring of love and support that you, dear readers, have shown me, and I intend to use it as fuel and encouragement as I face the coming days. It is my full expectation that this soul baring exercise will serve as inspiration to those of you who are also facing personal crises, but without my vast storehouse of gifts upon which to draw. You're welcome.
Dolor sit amet dolore........
