No irons in the fire
Come on up to the house
And you're singin' lead soprano
In a junkman's choir
You gotta come on up to the house
Is it possible to be both completely exhausted, but not? Yeah, didn't think so. Yet I am.
The things that make me love my job have been happening every other minute this week. Unfortunately these same drops o' sunshine are what give me acute work anxiety, stomach cramps, headaches and, in general, reduce me to the level of a nervous dog with an abscess or something else disgusting and painful and needing medical attention. It's a sick, sick world, little pilgrim.
In a moment of distraction this afternoon, I pretended to stab the courthouse deputy with my cell phone. I don't know what came over me. Lack of sleep, I think.
"What are you doing?" he demanded. The only way I can describe how he said this is "faintly incredulous" which makes me think of Jane Austen books.
He then proceeded to tell me that when he's bored and nothing much is happening inside the courthouse, he goes and kicks cars out of the parking lot. Explanation: The courthouse has the misfortune of sharing its parking lot with a museum. Except, of course, the courthouse doesn't like to share. Especially not during the week when juries need to get in and out and the lawyers are armed and sleep-deprived and subpoena-ing whatever moves.
Technically, you can only park there for the museum on the weekends when the courthouse is closed. Of course people ignore this daily.
"Whenever I see them spilling out of their cars with all their cameras, all happy..." he trailed off, smiling to himself. I assumed at this point I was forgiven.
---
I have a new neighbor who shall henceforth be known as Bishop...and her contemporary companion, Anne Frank. Inside joke. Really.
Bishop has taken over C.'s apartment since C. can't live here anymore because there's a county ordinance or court order expressly forbidding it. To help C. keep her sanity during this difficult time, we've started calling the prison she was transferred to "OPB." Her "job" as a top environmental blogger actually refers to work crew duties at the airport. But that's a secret.
---
So I skipped out of work early a few days back. Wednesday, I guess. And by early, I mean, I worked all day except for a few hours in the afternoon when I escaped down the coast and took photos and hiked and ate candy.
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I met Oregon's attorney general. He used to hunt the Mafia...using a sort of talisman and magical staff, I assume, with all the fierce old magic of federal law behind him. Few can wield that power and not be consumed with the lust for more. Surely as motions are suppressed, the darkness overcomes. Lasses! Lads! Breeches! Unicorns!
Anyway, that's how I like to imagine the attorney general and the outworking of federal prosecution. Someone else in the newsroom, who will remain nameless, looked at my story and pulled up the photo we were going to use and saw a different man than I did. "Why!" this nameless person exclaimed. "He just looks like a big nerd...but he's killed people and such in the Marines and prosecuted the mob. My goodness."
HERE'S THE STORY, in all its objective glory.
And the DUIIs continue to haunt me. My editor asked me to please take "reeling" out of the lede. As in: DUIIs reel drunkenly back in front of the City Council for due consideration. Etc. I thought I was being clever -- typically a bad sign.
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