The spaceship of our life has been hurling along on cruise-control these last few years. Bravely conquering new worlds, recently -- like diaper bags, jarred foods, The Wiggles, and Build-A-Bear-Workshop -- worlds we never considered would be major landmarks in our overall landscape! But mostly, cruising. Auto-Pilot is a wonderful thing. It lets you input your basic schedule, computes around small obstacles like return-to-work-after-pregnancy, nighttime feedings, and fevers of 103, and then takes over with a scheduled routine that carries the ship through, day after day. The Crew doesn't have to think much about it.
But our Auto-Pilot doesn't seem to be working anymore! Indeed, we've had to rush to the controls and steer the ship hastily, lest it dive and gather speed (and catch fire), in these recent few weeks.
We had seen -- and avoided the pitfalls of -- some pretty big things before, like the House-Buying Vortex. The Black Hole known as Dead-End Employment. The exhilarating, swirling, but infinite depths of Planning a Wedding, even. But nothing like now. Our ride has taken a determined turn toward some bumpy air, and I'm not just talking about The Baby.
Captain the Husband is decidedly uninterested in his job, and that is definitely a scary Wormhole. He gazes out his tiny Captain's window at miles and miles of nothingness -- nothing to like about work, that is. Nothing to keep him sane. Nothing to inspire his intellect or grant him appreciation for his time and effort. Debris flies at him from every galaxy. New projects to manage here, shipping errors there, grumpy co-workers everywhere -- none of it his doing, but all of it on his shoulders. I sense he's a little depressed by it. He's flying the ship handily -- but he doesn't enjoy it. And every Pilot ought to enjoy the flying.
A recent flurry of pressurization in the atmosphere (known on Earth as Hurricane Dennis) has finally left our spaceship... wet. The lower levels, specifically, took on 6 galactic inches (and more than 60 gallons) of H2O, and the whole Crew is suffering mightily from the stench of mildew (and the previous Crew's smelly mascot, who must have stored his canine waste product in the basement carpet). Now we face a Clorox bath to prevent other odious interplanetary creatures (Germs!) from inhabiting our humble craft -- not to mention a complete overhaul of that section of the ship, in the form of Waterproofing. (We can only thank God we hadn't finished the room when the storm came ravaging.)
And yesterday, we found out from a free-floating astronaut who does Rocket Repairs, that our ship is probably crumbling to its demise, cosmetically. Same trouble the shuttle Columbia had, perhaps -- although it's completely inappropriate to spoof that tragedy -- but the panels on all sides of our ship are definitely ready for replacement. This Operations Controlwoman doesn't like to think about big-time repair jobs like siding replacement. Don't like having to spend the taxpayers' (our) money, you know. It's my job, if not to drive the ecnomics of the ship, then at least to monitor them. And these aren't happy economics. Basement repair, siding repair, trips cross-country, and Baby Needs New Shoes. (And did I forget to mention our 20-year-old AC unit will also need to be jettisoned and replaced next year?) Looks like I will be working full-time for a long time to come.
All we can do, really, is Man our Stations and hope the ship doesn't crash. That's what we've been doing. Another kind of auto-pilot, but with a constant eye on the attitude and pitch, making sure the horizon stays in view. (It doesn't, by the way, from the front porch, which is tilting unevenly and will also need fixing soon.) Captain hands me the headset, and takes position down below for maintenance and restoration. He also must inspect the surroundings (yard-work) in the next two days -- gotta keep that spaceship curb-appeal, you know, so that our neighbor Spaceships in this big, bad Universe aren't embarrassed by our presence here. I stand-by at the Home-caring terminal. Meals Ready to Eat, keeping things Ship-Shape, keeping the Crew clean and working efficiently.
I think that this strange part of the exosphere will pass us soon, and we can return to calmer stargazing and a more direct flight pattern. Until then, Mission: Living is certainly keeping us on our toes.
To "infinity and beyond?" Good Lord, Houston, I certainly hope not.
P.S. I just re-read this and it appears we did, in fact, get sucked into the House-Buying Vortex (of Hell). We just didn't know it at the time.
No comments:
Post a Comment