Assself of Selfass
Sounds like suckitude at work. Sorry. Wisdoc went thru about 4-5 years of her boss demeaning and degrading her, taking her windowed research suite and sticking her in an oversize internal closet. After 26 years of service to our nation's mentally ill veterans. He got shitcanned in the recent DVA unpleasantness for many, many instances of the same. Things are better now, but man it was shitty for a long while. Hope it's not so much so for you.
Work'snotsobad, standard gah. Was actually stunningly beautiful light at time of photo (and I'm going to ask Earthgirl if she wants to try to paint that photo) and I was the only one in the area so I didn't have to share it with anyone I didn't want to. View now sucks from temp cube, though new cube has no natural light at all. Move back tomorrow.
comment at youtube 'new cube' is from me despite differing cybernomnow that cubicles are a two-day topic, i give myself permission to repost once again a james tate poem with my anagogic commentary - adding, this time, a pointer to the song from the movie babe [plot not so different from the first part of tate's poem] -a musical tribute to the joy of living while under the gun of mortality set to a tune from Symphony No. 3 of Saint-Saënshttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sAqJLXmjZOY"The Promotion" by James TateI was a dog in my former life, a very gooddog, and, thus, I was promoted to a human being.I liked being a dog. I worked for a poor farmerguarding and herding his sheep. Wolves and coyotestried to get past me almost every night, and notonce did I lose a sheep. the farmer rewarded mewith good food, food from his table. He may havebeen poor, but he ate well. and his childrenplayed with me, when they weren’t in school orworking in the field. I had all the love any dogcould hope for. When I got old, they got a newdog, and I trained him in the tricks of the trade.He quickly learned, and the farmer brought me intothe house to live with them. I brought the farmerhis slippers in the morning, as he was gettingold, too. I was dying slowly, a little bit at atime. The farmer knew this and would bring thenew dog in to visit me from time to time. Thenew dog would entertain me with his flips andflops and nuzzles. And then one morning I justdidn’t get up. They gave me a fine burial downby the stream under a shade tree. That was theend of my being a dog. Sometimes I miss it soI sit by the window and cry. I live in a high-risethat looks out at a bunch of other high-rises.At my job I work in a cubicle and barely speakto anyone all day. This is my reward for beinga good dog. The human wolves don’t even see me.They fear me not.My analysis: I conclude that the cubicle dweller of Tate's poem is worse off in his current incarnation - his "promotion" to a human life has not gone well - for two reasons.1)His emotional needs were much better met in his life as a dog - Tate evokes this beautifully, and anyone who has loved a dog must be moved by this.2)Contrariwise, Tate's protagonist, looking backwards at his former happiness, has not yet grasped his current opportunity and responsibility for "the development of his soul", to use old-fashioned language.See the Monty Python creed - movie excerpthttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O2QJvc_SxFQAn exegesis of the above scene:http://tinyurl.com/25wbdduTate's protagonist is "reborn" into human circumstances, but he is immature in the sense that he is only reacting to, rather than mindfully and proactively responding to, his current place in the universe - he needs to be reminded of the possibility he has to "shine":http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Y6S1-Jj8cE