It is true when I say that we are all suffering from "hurricane fatigue." Not like those people digging through the mud and fish shit down on the coast (hi Jenn!). Those of us with minor damage and houses that are still inhabitable – yet broken -- are experiencing a different kind of fatigue. It’s the sort of thing that wears at you daily. One little thing after another happens.
Perhaps it’s a call from FEMA in which you repeat your storm damage story yet again. Or maybe it’s the mildly retarded lady at the Chevrolet dealership that has insisted your credit card has just been declined when in fact she is trying to run it through the machine upside down. When your dogs have escaped the temporary chicken wire fence you've constructed for the billionth time, the simplest things start to tear at your nerves.
Those people digging out the bodies in Galveston have turned off their emotions. They are doing horrible, disgusting, heartbreaking work. But they know this. They know its bad. It's what folks in that line of work do, so they are prepared. For the rest of us things have returned to something that vaguely resembles "normal." Its like we're living in some kind of alternative reality where doing everything from grocery shopping to driving to work in the morning has become a GIANT PAIN IN THE ASS.
The problem really is though that we truly believe that things are good. In our minds, we keep saying, "Yeah we've made it. Things are going to be okay." But things aren't okay yet, no matter how badly we all want them to be. And you start to realize this when and things start slipping completely outside your control. It’s a huge snowball effect and you're the tiny villager at the bottom of the mountain who's about to get its ass handed to it by an avalanche.
For us it’s the little things that have slowly worn us down. Stuff that when its slapped together feels huge. Like the loss of two weeks pay because the company my husband works for was effectively shutdown. Then the insurance company takes 21 days before they can even start to think about giving you money to pay for your repairs. And then your brakes go out on your car and you have to have them fixed so you can safely navigate the new hour-long commute to work daily, courtesy of Hurricane Ike knocking out every single stop light in Houston.
No wonder my mind is elsewhere and I'm finding it a touch difficult to focus. Perhaps that would explain why ignored protocol in our office bathroom and accidentally mooned the new guy. No, I'm not kidding. God, I wish I were. Not only did the poor man walk in on me taking a wiz – thus seeing my pink and shiny – but then I yelled at him like he was some kind of pervert that wants to finger-bang my cat. The poor man wanted to throw himself off the balcony. It was one of those moments where you know it should be an embarrassing situation both parties, yet the other person involved is clearly more uncomfortable than yourself.
I have apologized to him, both personally and via email. And while he says he's okay, I suspect he might need a counselor. He just looks absolutely horrified. And he physically can not make eye content with me. Which makes wonder, did a fat lady taking a piss in a tiny bathroom molest him as a child? And more frighteningly, what does it say about me that I'm not that moved by a coworker that I barely know seeing my bajingo?
Perhaps it’s a call from FEMA in which you repeat your storm damage story yet again. Or maybe it’s the mildly retarded lady at the Chevrolet dealership that has insisted your credit card has just been declined when in fact she is trying to run it through the machine upside down. When your dogs have escaped the temporary chicken wire fence you've constructed for the billionth time, the simplest things start to tear at your nerves.
Those people digging out the bodies in Galveston have turned off their emotions. They are doing horrible, disgusting, heartbreaking work. But they know this. They know its bad. It's what folks in that line of work do, so they are prepared. For the rest of us things have returned to something that vaguely resembles "normal." Its like we're living in some kind of alternative reality where doing everything from grocery shopping to driving to work in the morning has become a GIANT PAIN IN THE ASS.
The problem really is though that we truly believe that things are good. In our minds, we keep saying, "Yeah we've made it. Things are going to be okay." But things aren't okay yet, no matter how badly we all want them to be. And you start to realize this when and things start slipping completely outside your control. It’s a huge snowball effect and you're the tiny villager at the bottom of the mountain who's about to get its ass handed to it by an avalanche.
For us it’s the little things that have slowly worn us down. Stuff that when its slapped together feels huge. Like the loss of two weeks pay because the company my husband works for was effectively shutdown. Then the insurance company takes 21 days before they can even start to think about giving you money to pay for your repairs. And then your brakes go out on your car and you have to have them fixed so you can safely navigate the new hour-long commute to work daily, courtesy of Hurricane Ike knocking out every single stop light in Houston.
No wonder my mind is elsewhere and I'm finding it a touch difficult to focus. Perhaps that would explain why ignored protocol in our office bathroom and accidentally mooned the new guy. No, I'm not kidding. God, I wish I were. Not only did the poor man walk in on me taking a wiz – thus seeing my pink and shiny – but then I yelled at him like he was some kind of pervert that wants to finger-bang my cat. The poor man wanted to throw himself off the balcony. It was one of those moments where you know it should be an embarrassing situation both parties, yet the other person involved is clearly more uncomfortable than yourself.
I have apologized to him, both personally and via email. And while he says he's okay, I suspect he might need a counselor. He just looks absolutely horrified. And he physically can not make eye content with me. Which makes wonder, did a fat lady taking a piss in a tiny bathroom molest him as a child? And more frighteningly, what does it say about me that I'm not that moved by a coworker that I barely know seeing my bajingo?
2 comments:
Poor guy he may not come back tomorrow or if he's interested he may come back for more. Hey, look on the bright side at least you didn't fall down. :)
-Catfish
not the first time this has happened. i remember a young boy crying at gulf shores, al.
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