...Stung Up the Spine

"Where are you going tonight?"

Monday.  Start of a long week, or is it just the continuation of the night before...  in the midst of craziness associated with the recent file, the long hours, the lack of sleep, the unhealthy lack of attention (to everything), the tiredness and unpredictability, the uncertainty and ridiculousness of things done, due to fate or other baser reasons and the like.  Such a confluence of things that led back to another shambolic night on the water.  Inevitable, too, if you think on the past, and the parallels.  You could see the disaster coming so clearly and yet in you rushed, anxious no doubt for the obliviousness...

"How come? What's it like? What's it like?"

Unknown.  Ah, the disdain in that unexpected call.  The hilarious mystery in whether you or someone else led to the incrimination.  Could it have been you, meant as a reminder to return?  And what about that "crap" in the corner?  Can it be cleaned up in the early hours of this morning, before a flight to St. John's?  Did our friends from the street play a part in that, how much did they enjoy the brief respite of the warmth and taste of fine Scotch?  And what of the various conversations and allusions that will swirl around later, unbeknownst to you, darkness having fallen so resolutely over sections of the night?  Nothing, perhaps, in addition to the current rumours.  Another story for JA to tell the fresh clerks.  No need to wonder further about it.  Move on, as the song says.  I just have such a hard time caring.  

"I don't really think about it.  It just feels good."

And yet.  Dangerousness in the recent tendencies to assume a greater clarity of ability than you might have imagined.  Breaking time-honoured vows, then turning around and failing again, and falling.  And not really better.  Despite the ease in which accidents have thus far been avoided, two precedents set within a fortnight, most worrying and not to be repeated.  Or else the embedded song title might prove too eerily apt.  And all-too conclusive.

"I'm just so, mean and wild..."

Think back to Achill.  Funny how it was a similar moment in kind that led to the decision to bolt.  That was always the right call, and no saying that it won't be the right call again here in 22 months or so, but be aware of forming the next decisions too strongly on such basis.  The desire to flee borne out of sameness, shame, and solitude.  Of frustration with the service nature of the work, at times.  Of course I know that's not how negotiations proceed.  But my haste and deference and unwillingness to be unreasonable is why I am such a bad one.

Oh oh.  The end is in the beginning, and yet we go on.  Another humbling, apologetic call tomorrow.  But first to head home for laundry and homeland and then a return to have a closer look at some carpet in the wee hours.  Then, happily, to pack.  And fly to island shores to lift the spirits.

You can't complain about the lack of stories.  If only the fickle memory did not disappoint.

UPDATE: Maybe you do remember, the Woolite Oxy Deep Power Shot.  Only to find that the cleaning had already been done...  What more might you hear of that?  Therein lies more randomness.  It is 2AM on the nose, and at least the door was not locked so that you could confirm the job had been magically accomplished.  Funny world, 'tis.  Last time I walk in there for awhile, I imagine.  Ay me.