Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Post Nasal: The February Kvetch

Bleary-eyed from the cold the other morning, a little worse for the lingering winter, I awoke to the familiar sounds of the concertina and looked out my front door onto this scene unfolding in my yard.

 Shucks, I thought to myself. Snowing again.

Time hangs heavy in February when there aren't any of those 60-degree days in the forecast, when you don't absolutely have to leave the house, when you find yourself making up things to do so you don't have to exercise, like napping under a chair or in an appliance box.

It could be worse - I haven't been ejected from the adult video rental yet, or been asked to leave the WalMart parking lot, so it's not as though there are no "firsts" left to do for amusement.

I'll be the first to admit I'm finding all sorts of reasons to malinger. Maybe I didn't sleep so well last night, though I can't understand why not;

or maybe I'm starting to get a rash;

and of course, once you leave the house, anything might happen . . . .

But at some point in the morning the phone rang; in a weak moment I had contacted people on the "outside." Someone wanted to talk to me about coming to work - some poor soul who had driven up from Louisiana, thinking he'd have a nice crisp sunshiney Colorado business trip, and we both ended up doing the "Interstate Iditarod" to have lunch and a chat.

By this time it has occurred to me that my current employment status may be the source of my general ennui. It's hard to care sometimes what cap you choose to leave the house in, never mind the more critical items of the wardrobe. Nonetheless, there we were, having lunch and a friendly chat.

 "T. Boone Who?"

It's not that I want badly to go back to work,

but I also don't like the disadvantages of not having my head twisted around backwards. It's a ticklish situation, one that has its pleasures either way but leaves it pretty much up to you to decide which pleasure you prefer.

Clearly not an easy choice, and one that inevitably contributes to the sense of lassitude in an unwilling participant. Or the inertia of insurmountable indecision, as in the famous case of Buridan's Ass,

immobilized somewhere between the Nicaragua of gainful employment and the Panama of leisure. (Leave it to a medieval logician to put an ass in a sling.) 

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