Saturday, March 8, 2014

Just An Earth-Bound Misfit, I

It is where it has been for the past fourteen-plus years that the Firm has occupied our present home.  It has looked down upon me with what I have long interpreted as a healthy amount of disdain.  As I pass by it in the wee small hours of the morning - five or six mornings per week - when it is just the two of us knocking around the joint I swear I can see it looking at me and smirking that smirk. 

Yesterday morning I decided that I was finally going to do something about it.  A wrong needed to be righted.  A peg or two needed to be removed from someone's perch.  The high horse needed to be knocked down a hand or two.  Enough already damn it - you get the idea.

I mapped out my action plan.  I gave it careful consideration.  I knew I would have but one shot at it - the element of surprise favors a man but once after all.  Sufficiently prepared and fueled by the first of the day's "several" cups of coffee I attacked.

And I failed. 

Worse yet,  I failed miserably. 

I embarrassed myself in a performance destined to wake up only the echoes of George Costanza in a Foot Locker demonstrating Jimmy's Magic Jumping Shoes

I leaped skyward, OK technically speaking it was "ceilingward" but let us not fall prey to a tangent, and reached up with my right hand, hoping to make contact with my objective.  Not even close.  If I had welded the lower half of my left arm onto my right hand then maybe, just maybe, I might have realized my dream.  I might - even for just a moment or two - have experienced what it feels like to fly.  To soar high abve the ground and risk lightheadedness from the time spent in the rarified air.  Not a chance.

Truth be told, after my initial humiliation - and even with the element of surprise visible in the rear-view mirror - I tried again.  Same result.  Sufficiently chastened, I turned and headed back towards my office to keep working on a brief that has to be filed by Tuesday in Federal court.  But before I did I turned back briefly to pay homage to my conqueror.  I could swear that in the light of the hallway, that son of a bitch was still looking down at me and snickering....

....a dream unthreatened by the morning light.  Or by me.  


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