Creature Comforts
Midnight is nigh. Mel's curled up under the covers in the bedroom, catching up on sleep and still in a fight against a cold--one she's slowly but surely winning. And here I sit with a glass of Malibu Rum & Coke, some tracks from the new
Depeche Mode CD playing quietly in the background, and the snow gently but steadily falling outside.
If this were a movie, there'd be some sort of philosophical monologue or voice-over going on right about now. And then there'd probably be zombies. No special reason for the zombies; it's just felt like that sort of day.
Yet another long day at work, filled with more backlog paperwork I have now almost completed. Ideally there's one more shift to go, and I'll be caught up to the point where I may yet stand alone in an empty store and think, "Wow...I have absolutely nothing I could do right now." I don't think such a thing has happened in such a long time; I'll probably panic and eat next week's schedule (just in case I'm captured) when it happens.
This evening was spent finally getting to a week's worth of backlog dishes, and then later admiring how white our countertop was when it wasn't covered with pretty much every plate, bowl, pan and piece of cutlery we had. Well, there was still one lone, brave fork daring to remain in the cutlery drawer before everything else was washed...
The last few weeks have felt quite surreal, and despite the fact that we've cooked and eaten a lot of dinners at home (as the now-disbanded army of unsightly dishes once attested to), it feels like we've barely been spending any time at the apartment. I feel a stranger in an otherwise familiar place. I also feel like I've been neglecting a lot of the things that matter, and what my job is more or less paying to support: Mel, Shady & Chance, the apartment (and its current lack of "clean"), and especially myself.
Hence the creature comforts. It's been a while since I've sat back and been surrounded by quiet; I've spent so much time lately in the company of unwanted noises and vast quantities of people. Perhaps too much time. It's one of the unique differences between Mel and I: she thrives on the social interaction, even after having to deal with customers all day long, and I would rather be left alone to my own private universe.
The chance to forget about the rest of the world at large, even for just a short while, is how I unwind. Writing is one outlet that allows for me to achieve this. But especially now, the need to write isn't as strong as the need to have that "quiet" time. It helps reaffirm my belief that, while all may not be right with the world, I can still survive in it for a little longer. On a related note, I'm starting to appreciate the tranquility of those Zen Buddhist temples.
Wow...this really did turn into a sort of philosophical monologue. Which can only mean the zombies aren't far behind. Yeah, that's going to ruin the peace and quiet. But as
Resident Evil has proven, blowing the crap out of zombies is also a good way to unwind and relieve tension.
Oh, and the mall started playing Christmas music yesterday. The betting pool is now open as to how long Mel (and any other poor sot stuck working out in a corridor kiosk) will last before the constant barrage of carols drives her insane and causes her to strangle the first customer to cheerfully remark," Don't you just love hearing all these Christmas carols?"
Mel's giving herself 2 weeks.
I'm impressed; I only lasted 9 days.
Today's Lesson: I don't care how many scarves are loaded onto one of the kiosk shelves. Scarves are light. Your children are not. Those shelves are
NOT loadbearing shelves.
(And yet you'd be surprised at how many people are stunned when they set their kids or their full weight on said shelves, and the brackets get ripped out of the walls and the shelf goes tumbling down...)
posted by Phillip at 8:47 PM
