House of Cards

I am here at the office (at least, I was when I started to type this post), sitting on hold while my an employee at a large client company goes in search of someone who can give me instructions, pondering the recent and impending changes in my life, the lives of my ladies, and of course, those of my disgusting cats. It has been noted by Mo- I go to great lengths, unhealthy lengths, to avoid addressing things which trouble me, which aversion I will overcome HERE or maybe further down the page. Miraculously, this post is not about corporate on-hold music, which is a genre worthy of considerable comment.

This month I went from employee to boss, or co-boss, or partner or whatever. I have downplayed this event in my mind over the last few months, and have done so for three reasons. These are, in no order: I have borrowed a fair bit of coin to buy in; I am now responsible to my family members, and to my numerous co-workers who are now (gulp) my employees (at least in part); and six years ago I was fired from my first job as an associate on account of my execrable performance as an employee. (In my defence, I was drunk the whole time, but try explaining that to the bosses.) What I am circumlocuting is that I am surprised/happy just to have a job, let alone a career, let alone bossness (bossivity, partnerocity).

Mo-wo is growing larger and more feisty daily. By feisty I mean radiant and charming. We will soon, I hope, be blessed with another beautiful and healthy child who will run us like those weird electric rabbits run the greyhounds and who will love us in a manner so pure as to defy meaningful definition. Baby E will have a sibling. Mo will be at home for some time, away from a career that she enjoys and to which she is devoted. The cats will soon have another small human to give them sticky hugs and guerilla tail-pulls. The quantity of poo produced by members of our household will increase geometrically. Hazmat teams will camp out next to the garbage cans... These are some changes!

But do I feel worried- nooooo! I am completely numb from the neck up. It is my fervent wish that I can soon feel what I imagine the required level of anxiety/terror/night shits to be.

In an effort to give effect to this wish I've started looking for a new domicile in which I, Mo-, E, and the felines may defecate with the frequency and privacy (or lack thereof) to which we are accustomed. This is no small order - we will require acres of porcelain and pozzolanic gravel. We have now looked at the first uncared-for yet overpriced candidates and they are lacking in, inter alia, sufficient quantity and quality of toilets.

My secret desire, unannounced to Mo-, and likely designed by my subconscious to create utter chaos in my life, the green-apple splatters of body and soul, is to re-finance our wee home to its gutters, use that borrowed money to pay down on the next place, rent the basement of the new one, all so we can have two houses, two cats, two kids, two mortgages, two sets of tenants and two infarctions. Yeah!

I'm not trying to avoid dealing with what there is by trying to add layers of stuff onto what is. I am not prepared to admit to that. That would be an unwarranted exercise of candor.