Teh l4m3 of Freedom Camp left a comment here yesterday telling me to wake up, slave! And I'm really going to take that advice as I head into this new week.
You see last week I was flying by the seat of my pants, or in my husband's black car that can go really fast. I have a new client about 35 miles away, mostly highway. I know where the cops hide on the route, so I know when to slow down to 60 before I rev it up to 75 again to make the meeting on time.
I had to make this trip every day last week. I should leave 35 minutes before my appointment to make it there with 2 minutes to spare. But each day, my husband would toss the work off to me like a frizbee and I was gunning it out of the driveway already 5 minutes late.
On Thursday, as I started the car, I noticed I only had a little less than 1/4 tank of gas. Damnit! So I push the button on the dash that tells me how many miles this actually translates in to.
Can I trust this dashboard computer thingamajig? What if I can't? Nothing works like it should. Who owns Saab now anyway? General Motors? Yeah, like I can trust them. What if I run out of gas on the highway?
I decide to trust it. After all, I'm already late. I cross my fingers and step on the gas.
I'm doing an awesome Danica Patrick imitation, while I'm nervously glancing at the fuel guage while keeping my eyes open for the cops.
All week long I've got Genesis' Trick of the Tail in the CD player. I'm like a pre-schooler when it comes to listening to music. I'll listen to the same CD over and over until literally I can't take it anymore.
All the way to the meeting to keep my mind off of running out of gas, I'm analyzing the lyrics to Squonk and comparing them to George W. Bush.
The album cover says, The Squonk is of a very retiring disposition and due to its ugliness, weeps constantly. It's easy prey for hunters who simply follow a tear-stained trail. When cornered it will dissolve itself into tears.
I decide that failure is personified as a hunter in this song and continually stalks George W. Bush throughout his life, always, ultimately conquering his prey:
Like father like son
Not flesh nor fish nor bone
A red rag hangs from an open mouth.
Alive at both ends but a little dead in the middle,
A-tumbling and a-bumbling he will go.
All the King's horses and all the King's men
Could never put a smile on that face.
He's a sly one, he's a shy one
Wouldn't you be too.
Scared to be left all on his own.
Hasn't a, hasn't a friend to play with, the Ugly Duckling
The pressure on, the bubble will burst before our eyes.
All the while in perfect time
His tears are falling on the ground
But if you don't stand up you don't stand a chance.
Go a little faster now, you might get there in time.
Mirror mirror on the wall,
His heart was broken long before he ever came to you.
Stop your tears from falling,
The trail they leave is very clear for all to see at night
all to see at night.
In season, out of season
What's the difference when you don't know the reason.
In one hand bread, the other a stone.
The Hunter enters the forest.
All are not huntsmen who can blow the huntsman's horn
By the look of this one you've not got much to fear.
Here I am, I'm very fierce and frightening
Come to match my skill to yours.
Now listen here, listen to me, don't you run away now
I am a friend, I'd really like to play with you.
Making noises my little furry friend would make
I'll trick him, then I'll kick him into my sack.
You better watch out... You better watch out.
I've got you, I've got you, you'll never get away.
Walking home that night
The sack across my back, the sound of sobbing
on my shoulder.
When suddenly it stopped,
I opened up the sack, all that I had
A pool of bubbles and tears - Just a pool of tears.
Lance had written a post awhile back called Lincoln's melancholy, Bush's anger, and he ended his post with this line: In a hundred and forty years will someone publish a book titled Bush's Melancholy: How Depression Challenged a President and Fueled his Failure?
That post depressed me. No offense, Lance, but I don't want to put Lincoln and Bush side by side. I still cannot accept the fact that Bush was re-elected. And I really can't stomach the fact that little kids now are going to grow up and read stories about how he actually was President of the United States, like it was true -- like it wasn't some hideous, horrendous nightmare that it is.
To me, he is a Squonk. Alive at both ends, but a little dead in the middle. Nothing more. Nothing less.
After listening to Squonk four times, I rip into the parking lot and find a space. I make the meeting, two minutes late -- but hey, their watches could be slow. It's all good.
I leave the meeting. I'm waiting at a red light when I notice a car pull up behind me and the guy driving jumps out running up toward me. I sort of panic and make sure my doors are locked. Yeah, he had on a tie and looked maybe two years older than my son -- but Ted Bundy didn't look like Charles Manson either.
He taps on my window and I notice he's holding a phone. Not a cell phone -- but the phone from my house! I unroll the window, kind of shocked and thank him. As he hands it to me, he says, "this was sitting on your trunk." I say thanks again and roll up the window.
When it dawns on me that IT'S MY PHONE FROM MY HOUSE, I unroll the window and thank him again loudly.
Can you imagine me speeding along the highway, doing 80, passing cars with a phone on my trunk?
(Not a little cell phone, but a regular sized house phone??)
My son had put it there the night before when he was playing out in the driveway and in my haste, I obviously didn't notice it when I jumped in the car and took off like a bandit.
Somewhat embarassed, I took a deep breath and hit #6 on Trick of the Tail.
Blue girls come in every size...
Some are wise and some otherwise....
And I drove the speed limit safely, first to the gas station and then all the way home.