Musing The Wall

The writing is on the wall. What writing? I dunno I can't read it, somebody smudged my glasses.

I used to hate that! Somebody would sneak up behind me lick their finger and then smear my glasses. Yeah, great fun. I wrote their name down. They're on my wall.

What wall? Man! Don't you ask a lot of questions? Sheesh! The proverbial wall! That's where Aesop wrote his stuff because he figured that the other guy's laptop was probably really too clunky anyway with all those sour grapes between the keys.

All I know is that I'm back from vacation and somebody's writing is on my wall and it doesn't taste like peanut butter or chocolate. Somebody called my phone too. That was my boss. Yeah, I'd officially been back to work for 2 hours and he left a message on my machine:

"Rob, your work is better, but it needs a lot of improvement. I'm going to be scrutinizing each of your stations this week. We'll talk Wednesday."

Great. Maybe that's the writing on the wall. If Aesop has a few more of those sour grapes left, I'm sure I can show my boss where to stick them. He's got plenty of whine. It's certainly a bad season for the Rob whine; that stuff's a little bitter.

At least that's what the wall says.

I was in church Sunday. The new pastor talked about peace of mind. Maybe I have that. Could my wall say something positive? I mean, I took the divorce rather well, and I'm not too panicky about this job thing. I trust that God will see me through, but I have to wonder: is that called peace of mind, or just no mind?

How do I know the difference? If I bang my head on the wall, will the thump change tone between a hollow thump and a holy thwap? Shouldn't I be freaking out? I'm not. I was more worried about Cosmo's vet visit this morning.

They forgot us.

I fret over that! One hour in an examination room, and nobody came to bask in my pups coned glory. How dare they overlook my dog! Somebody needs to write that on the wall too. In big bold letters.

DON'T FORGET THE DOG!

It's ok. The gave him a pat on the head, and he turned all love pup. I'm a little more cynical, but for the sake of the dog, I'll ignore this latest infringement.

Maybe that's what's on the wall. Maybe it's a list of wrongs never forgotten. If that's the case, I'm gonna need a bigger wall!

No, I dunno. I'm not filling that wall up as much these days. I'm too busy. You want to hear something funny? I'm not even mad at MyEx. I was thinking about that the other day. Somebody was asking me about the end days.

No not the Biblical wrath end days, just the days Rob numbered as the end of his marriage. I talked about attitudes and acts of aggression, but it was all like fifth grade history. Half way through I was bored.

I don't want to write on my wall anymore.

My boss? He's got his own wall. He can continue to chalk mark the final days till Rob walks, or is pushed. That's fine. For me there's too much already up there. Sometimes you just need to paint the whole thing over and start from scratch.

Divorce is a hard time for that. We have a hard time letting things go. Everything is on the wall for everybody to see. We're graffiti artists spraying our anger across the vertical landscape. Bold fat fonts letting everybody know we were wronged. And we were. At least I know I was.

MyEx says the same thing too. The problem is, though, that we're all running out of space. Oh we'll keep on spraying, but after a while it stops being art and just turns into self-vandalism. I'm done with that.

Maybe that's why I can't read the writing: There's nothing there worthy to say.

After all, it's a wall. That's no where near as important or timely as a blog.