The problem with feeling tired in the evening is I'm not writing about anything very interesting. Or thinking about anything very interesting. I got a long email from MRS, one of the writers on my 100 Books list, discussing the national consciousness after the 9-11 event as if it could be analyzed from a Jungian perspective. Which I believe.
I've always thought of the national news as a kind of internal dialogue, much like an individual's internal dialogue, and particular voices, whether they be politicians or actors or singers or scientists or seers - the people who inhabit the airwaves, in other words - people like Oprah and Junior and Jerry Falwell (for that matter) as the bits and pieces of a national psyche, each voice a small part of the larger whole. (This was a one paragraph burst on Tuesday after scanning the pictures, head fuzzy, in need of rest. Went to bed early and slept like a log. Maybe I'll talk about his later and tell my one Joan Baez story, if you can believe any of this would lead to a Joan Baez story.)
Wednesday evening. I left work an hour early and had a Guinness at the brewery pub near the office, then had another Guinness at the brewery pub near the office, thinking, well, two is dangerous if I'm planning on doing more than stare at the walls when I get home. Two seems to be OK. The news is playing behind me and I'm writing.
Wuss seems more comfortable with the cat door. I still may just have to cut the damned thing off and leave it open to the outside air, but it's small and doesn't let in much of the cold. I've noticed that he tends to do his stuff after he's had his dinner, so I put him out on the balcony after I'd fed him. A "meow - meow" after a while from the dark, so I pushed the door with my finger and he was smart enough to come in, still not liking the damned contraption. Still, in the background, the sound of the kitty litter box going through its racking motions. The Wuss has done his stuff for the first time outside and not on the hallway rug. I am encouraged.
The word is out they're putting the names of those of us they want to keep beside the boxes on the new reduced in size organizational chart that's come down from corporate. Lots of reasons to think they might keep me, lots of reasons to think they might not. We're all at the point where we don't really care anymore. Go out and find another job? Why not? Better than this drip drip drip rumor mill we're in. And when it's done, who and what will be left? Plenty of stuff to do, but if this is an example of the day to day routine in big corporate America, it's a wonder any of us are still in business. Or do I simply not remember? Was it always like this? I sure as hell remember some ups and downs working with small companies, but back then I really didn't give much of a shit what happened. There were some good years, there were some bad years. After a while they all flow together.
Whichever way any of it goes, the weekend is approaching and I'm starting to look forward to driving up to Portland. I've arranged time before I leave to do more unpacking and putting things into storage. I talk about this, but it is actually happening, just slowly, slowly.