Sometimes life here in the bunker is not intriguing

By J. D. Pendry

Mostly it rolls along fine until Household 6 pops in for a snap inspection.  Suzie-Q insisted I straighten up some, rather sternly.  Followed by the look.  You know the look.  Right after she nearly tripped over a pile of something or other in the middle of the floor just behind my outrageously expensive ergonomic chair that’s never performed as advertised.

Now the bunker is neat and orderly.  Too neat and orderly.  It’s making me ill.  For me, clutter is a thinking tool.  Don’t you agree?  I’ve always believed the proverb.  A cluttered desk or office is sign of a cluttered mind.  The opposite is the sign of a head that’s remarkably empty.  Clean, but empty.  Clutter is also my chosen filing system.  Or more fittingly piling system.

I have discovered desktop surfaces I haven’t seen for a while.  Also, some unfinished manuscripts.  They’re uncovered now.  I’ll give them a look, maybe I can recall what I was thinking when I left them mid paragraph or chapter, but likely not.  I’m in my wonder years.  I wonder why I started.   Wonder why I stopped.  If any particular pile re-piques my curiosity, I’ll doodle some with it until something else distracts me.  Then I’ll listen to some music and wonder how many starts and stops Twain or Dickens had.   Probably not many since in their day there was no social media.  Explains how one opens the Christmas tale of all times with “Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.”  And then goes on to explain his lack of knowledge of what is particularly dead about a door-nail.  Who reads these masterful works nowadays?  Just old fogies like me, who’ve never appreciated streaming the latest video.  Besides, some of our classic American literature is shunned nowadays because by today’s parameters it might contain offensive or insensitive words.  Guess the judges of the worth of this literature don’t listen to the music being pumped into their children’s brain via ear buds.  Between you and I, it’s the haughty who are the problem. Not classic American literature.  Pardon me, but have you read some of the profanity laced work of today’s most successful and prolific writers.  I haven’t seen anyone take on Stephen King who lately has trouble completing a sentence minus an F-bomb or two.  That is what’s saturating young brains.  At least for those still reading books.

Speaking of distractions may I offer some sage advice?  Not to imply that I nor my advice is exceptionally wise, but if you need to focus on anything, close Facebook.  Don’t open it until everything you set out to do for the day is done.  I come in the bunker most mornings, check the email and read the news headlines.  If I open Facebook, I’m doomed to crowding my brain with the same 25 posts, cat videos, and Lord help me laughing uncontrollably at people taking horrendous falls.  I don’t know what causes us to laugh so hard when a woman, nose in her phone, walks into a utility pole and knock herself out.  I’m giggling just thinking about it and that can’t be right.  Can it?  And then there are always people laying out their personal lives and too often in intimate detail or declaring if I don’t share their post, I have no guts or am doomed to hell.  By the time I realize what I’m doing and the time I’ve wasted, my brain is so saturated with garbage thinking is no longer possible.  I’m convinced they’re trying to reprogram my cranial hard drive and social media is an evil government mind control experiment.  And it’s working!

I read in a self-help book (now that’s a profitable racket) people who are perpetually in debt do not feel comfortable once they’re out of debt.  So, when all the car loans and credit card bills are paid, they promptly work on getting back into debt.  Likewise, people accustomed to being broke and somehow come into a little money generally spend it right away to get back into their comfort zone.

I am busily making the bunker comfortable again.  Maybe I’ll craft a beware of tripping hazards sign.  I’ll make it out of paper so it cannot be turned into a life threating missile.

© 2019 J. D. Pendry, J. D. Pendry’s American Journal, All Rights Reserved Email JD:

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