Back to the Grind

    Zoom back in session. Moods already swinging. It is good to reconnect with the world. (Right?) I grow weary of "better than nothing" "doing our best" mottoes, but it's all we've got. My meditation skeleton has a succulent growing from his crown. It died. 

    Men in neon vests, white helmets and masks are inspecting our mud pit. The place where giant snapping turtles emerge when it floods. The men point, grunt, stomp. Their boots sink quickly into the squishy ground. I would love a job that isn't tethered to a computer screen. It's what I love about teaching. Now my soul is being sucked into a foldable glowing box.

    The men make their way up the steep wet leafy hill to their truck with a water droplet on it. I suppose this means they are water management. They bring out a yellow CAT, which slides and bumbles across the ridge of the pit. It lifts and moves large flat metal sheets one at a time for traction. Lift, place, roll forward, lift, place, roll forward. The tedious movement reminds me of the Missing Piece. And of my new routine: Wake, zoom, snack, sleep, wake, zoom, snack, sleep. I watch as the machine teeters over the steep decline using its arm to keep from flipping over. It seems to go against the laws of physics. Lift, toss, flop. The sheets soar down into the pit and the CAT makes its way steadily down the muddy bluff. It may never come back up and out of that pit. CAT clumsily arranges the metal sheets so it doesn't go the way of Artax. Hoses and machines suck out the swamp water. No sign of any snappers. Hopefully they're settled deep enough.

    The beeping of machinery echoes the beeping of my phone. Time for my next Zoom. All right, then. 


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