Monsters in the Closet

Children are right. There really are monsters in the closets. Their closet monsters come out at night and threaten to annihilate them. Mine come out in the daytime, reminding me of the detritus of the past ten years crammed in there with them. It's hard to maintain my delusions of tidiness with the voices of unfinished projects, ancient clothes, and weird gadgets ("Stableicers--sure traction snow tires for your feet!") clamoring for my attention. Attention they are not likely to get when I am working 40 hours a week.

But now I'm home during the day. Like crying babies, closet monster voices are really, really hard to ignore. Yesterday's battle with the bedroom closet took all day, lots of sweaty trips up and down stairs, and a journey to unload my full car at Value Village. And yet, it wasn't a complete victory--some of the smaller, weirder items clung to me like leeches, reminding me why I bought them, and promising to be more useful in the future. I'm not a total wimp; I got rid of them anyway. Well, most of them. (OK, half of them.)

If I don't become gainfully employed soon, I'll have to gird up my loins (can women do that?) and wade into the lair of the most fearsome closet monster of all--the dread BASEMENT BEDROOM CLOSET. That's where we put the "We'll-never-use-it-again-but-don't-want-to-admit-it" stuff (like ski clothes that belong in a museum, and linens in all those great 1988 colors.) The closet is huge, and like a faithful dog, it's been accepting our foibles for 13 years. It's hard to admit the time has come, but it has. The basement bedroom closet is finally, undeniably, completely full. The only way out of attacking it is to be gone 40 hours a week.

This shuddering reality sent me into a frenzy of phone calls and resumes to possible employers. Will one of them hire me before the Basement Bedroom Closet Monster drags me into the closet's musty interior, possibly never to be seen again? And do prospective employers respond favorably to terrified begging? Stay tuned, folks.

Do What You Love

I'm done "just sittin'" after being sacked, and I'm filling out reams of paper for the"Unemployment Office," which is called "Employment Security Department" in my state. Oddly enough, that does not make me feel more secure.

People say, "Do what you love, and the rest will follow." Who are those people? I mean, who really gets to do what they love? For money, I mean.

A blurb in yesterday's paper gave a brief history of an Englishman who has been arrested about 20 times in the last 28 years for impersonating a Metro (subway) employee. He puts on a uniform and sweeps stations, helps fight underground fires, and even drives buses and trains when he can. Now, there's a man who knows what he loves! He just hasn't figured out that doing what you love is supposed to result in paychecks, not arrests.

I need a better strategy than his, but I'm not even close to thinking one up yet. I fill out papers, I walk the dogs, I make phone calls, I pet the dogs. It's keeping me upright and moving forward, so far. Today the weather is actually helping--after the coldest recorded June weather since 1893, we have sunshine today. It's warm outside! I'm in the "walk the dogs" phase of my cycle, so I think I'll rummage in the closet for a pair of sandals.

I have no illusions about this being the beginning of a trend, because more cold and rain is forecast for the rest of the week. I'll wear my sandals, but I'm taking an umbrella--just in case they got wrong.

Getting Sacked

I got sacked from my job today. I feel very strange--almost glad, kind of embarassed, but mostly just spacey. I put my keys in the refrigerator and my apple in my purse when I got home. I called Young Geezer to tell him I'd be hanging around the house a lot more (I can already hear him thinking up things for me to do) and then emailed some friends.

One of my writing buddies came over and read me the latest fabulous chapters in his book-in-progress. His story transported me to a lovely beach and into a seaside town. It was a nice respite from the weirdness going on in my head. We talked about pain--mine from failing to learn my job, and his from the death of a very close friend last week. We commiserated, agreed to meet again in two weeks, and decided to "geezer on."

There are lots of things I should be doing, like cruising the Web for my next job, or calling the agencies that have placed me in contract positions in the past. But I think I won't be doing those things right away.

One of my favorite quotes is:
"Sometimes I sits and thinks;
Sometimes I just sits."

I think I'll just sit for a couple of days.

"Hedgehog Brings Fine"

"Hedgehog Brings Fine"--what does that mean? Brings a fine what? Or did the hedgehog fine someone? Ah, sadly, the hedgehog was dead. But the New Zealand man who threw it at a teenage boy, hitting him in the hip and causing him to be stabbed by four hedgehog spines, did indeed have to pay a fine. To the boy.

He paid over five hundred dollars for "assault and offensive behavior," handily avoiding the more serious "assault with a weapon" charge. Apparently, there is no "assault with a hedgehog" law on the books.