The haze of the great fires lingers beneath the evening sun in soft sunshine shadows; Every shadow sheds tears on the dust of the memories Windswept in allwhither.
P.S.: Today, during the mass, the priest said some parishioners lost their homes due to the Great Fire this week and could not attend the mass. Presumably, they should live in Pasadena, about 15 minutes from where I live in the heart of Los Angeles, CA. It reminded me of the Great Fire of London (09/02/1666 to 09/06/1666), which was said to result from a fire in a bakery in the city. I have never seen anything to that effect in my life. I can still smell the burning, and the ashes from the fires scatter around the city. I hope those affected by the fires will have the care and help they need promptly and effectively.
Why do I always feel guilty and remorseful about things I am not wholly responsible for, the faux pas?
And I have a reason to think so.
Today, the accounting clerk – more of a delivery guy – was supposed to pick up a returned check from a vendor, but he wasn’t, and the accounting department was behind him by not answering my questions about why he didn’t pick up the check. Did I do something unforgivably or gravely wrong? Was my calling the guy “Hey George” enough to irritate his nerves? But don’t they at the firm call each other “Hey?” Oh, I got it. So they can say hey, but me. It’s not the same, hey. It’s a different hey from mine. I got it.
Still, it’s a job, and what if someone – and most possibly the guy himself – steals the check and appropriates it to frame me so that I will be fired from the job? I have a valid reason to speculate the scenario: that guy smirks at me and is always happy to ignore me when saying hi and hello, and what’s up to everyone but me. Too sensitive? Of course, when you and he are alone in an elevator, and there’s only radio silence, except for his malicious and vile smirk? Oh, yes, definitely sensitive.
The check was not returned and is supposedly kept in our desk drawer in the office. I worked from home today, and I asked my colleague in the office to keep it in the drawer. I hope the delivery guy or his kindred accomplice will not do anything malicious to wreak havoc on my career and sanity.
I am writing this because otherwise, I would feel like I cannot sleep. So, by writing the litany of woes, I hope I can get rid of the evil spells or exorcise demons hell-bent on gripping my soul, dragging me to hell.
My Camille is unwell now. He eats, drinks, and defecates, but I know there’s something wrong with his demeanor, mood, and aura. No, it’s not a hyped reaction from an overly protective spinster guardian, but I ohknow. It worries me to death; it pains me to no end. I am so thankful for his little heart pumping beneath his sleek, straight black fur, and on the other hand, I inwardly recoil in fear that what if it begins to slow and then stop?
I have noticed that when I pet Camille, he secretes a fluid with a noticeable smell, which isn’t terrible. I thought it was his way of expressing content when petted, and my research shows it’s partly true. Partly it is due to his anal gland charge, which worries me. So, I think maybe it’s a complication of the anal glands and other organ infections, such as liver or urinary.
And it plunges me so low into the abyss of grief, echoed in guilt for Camille’s condition because I have not been so loving or patient with Camille’s urge to play. He tends to eat frequently, almost every 10 minutes or so. Even though I always ensure my cats’ bowls are full of dry food with water, Camille prefers wet food. He eats small but many times. It might indicate diabetic symptoms. I feel like a terrible guardian, and more terrible is losing him – which is unthinkable! Let present fears less than horrible imaginings!
I just made an appointment with a vet to check him this Saturday. I hope Camille is not seriously ill.
Some believe in ghosts, a few see spirits, and many deny souls. How odd that this digital age is when it is, in fact, a kind of spectral age in which Alexa with no face exists without being seen!
Laboratory Conditions is an engaging cinematic short story about a doctor who puts heart before reason. She also has a brilliant mind, but it’s not corrupted but cherished in her faith in the human spirit. It is an odd combination of sentiment and reason seen in someone like her, or so she may seem. Or is she so? Humans are dualistic and ambivalent anyway, so I can’t say she’s all good, but at least she is sensible and sympathetic.
Her opposite is the head of medical searchers of the hospital by which she is employed, and she is the only Reason with a face despaired of humanity. She measures human worth by status and thinks those found on the low rungs of the social ladders are unworthy of decent treatment. A modern-day eugenist is on a par with a god deciding who will live or not. She is amoral and negates the existence of human souls, or is she deluded to believe so? Anyway, she doesn’t care about it, an iota. Or has she sold her soul to the devil?
The film is about 17 minutes long and can be watched on YouTube. It also stars a surprisingly famous cast, such as Marissa Tomei and Minnie Driver, who are excellently cast to play the fitting roles. I have read the comments, an electric mix of kudos to the doctor’s humanity and criticism of her cruelty. But they are all missing the real evil wrapped in a human’s guise among the faces.
They should abolish this stupid summertime system. You know whom I am talking about.
It’s asinine, addles-headed, useless, and pointless. I mean—seriously—what need is there to keep this anachronistic system in this digital age when most developed countries do not live by this supposedly smart time system?
Suppose this is for any entrepreneurial purposes that satisfy business people who make a living by getting an hour less of sleep. In that case, they should adapt their business’s open mode to the present online business shopping module because nowadays, people shop more online than offline.
It has been said that the Senate will vote to abolish the summertime system, but that is only the father of the idea. I don’t think the system will be abolished anytime soon.
Anyway, it was nice of me to sleep one hour extra after getting ready for the 7:00 a.m. mass at 4:00 p.m. today. Thank Mom for letting me know.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury Signifying nothing. — Macbeth (Act 5, Scene 5, lines 17–28)
It’s been a long time since I last wrote in this online journal. To my surprise, I found out that all my past entries are gone! I have tried fruitlessly locating them, but Penzu has no such easy function to retrieve the past entries UNLESS you have to upgrade to a present version! So, that’s how they make a profit from their business. But as I think of it as some kind of sign to refresh my life, I will not attempt to retrieve the bygone times.
It’s nice to write anything now using my cute iPad. Don’t get me wrong. I love writing, even though I am not perfect at English grammar. I love the English language and the way of western cilivization, even if the people who were born into the culture do not seem to take a liking to me. I consider the English language to be the most efficient global lingua franca. It’s convenient and catholic. So, what the hell! I am not scared of writing in English because I love the language and the act of writing in it.
So, job-wise, I think I am doing okay because I am still working at the same place as a case manager assistant. I believe I work the most diligently and efficiently in my team, which is mainly composed of younger people. Yeah, the glorious MZ Generation. But they will not stay young any longer, and mind you and them; they will one day lament the bygone days of their youth. Well, I guess you have already noticed my not-so-kind opinion about them, which might have come from my experience working with them. Hell, yeah!
Oh well. Enough for pouring this hateful rant about the deplorable generation. I want to focus on the rest of my life and take control of it. I am considering setting up and running my own small online business selling cat toys and cat-themed fancy stationery items via Etsy. Or maybe Amazon. I am seriously considering such a business prospect as a plan B for my economic act, always having backup financial resources in force in significant situations. I do not want to repeat, though helplessly, depressive times when I do not have a job.
Flame, Glass and Ink are Poems, essays, and reading notes by Stefania Joori Suh 
You must be logged in to post a comment.