My Life, No?

I glance to the right at the clock on my desk. Half past five, and I've been here since six. I’ve been running all over the plant for a week, trading time between a whole line being installed, an overhead conveyor going in, and a half dozen different companies trying to fit their work around each other. Another called a day ago and moved their install back two weeks. I have a schedule to keep, my manager wants to cut that time in half, and all my guys are stressed. My life, no?

My gaze returns to the project chart. The delayed company’s work still fits in my timeline should they keep to their schedule. Another is almost two days ahead while three are behind in places. My team was behind, but one of my guys took advantage of another company’s lunch break and got us back on track.

As to my manager’s timeline, we may yet reach it. If anything's off with the electrical, and something is always off with the electrical, then we will miss. Silently I aim for appearances. Everything will be physically done by my manager’s deadline; hopefully he understands that troubleshooting is the bane of any project.

Swiftly I make out my report. Since we began I have sent an email to all the managers as to our progress and what the next day’s plans are. The first iteration takes barely a minute to type out. I’ve been rehearsing my words as each milestone is reached and every problem rears its head. I read through it, make adjustments, and repeat. Finally I click ‘Send’ and turn again to the clock. It’s almost six.

With a yawn I stretch my arms and stand up. Only two more weeks of twelve hour days before we should be done. My coat is removed from the back of my chair, I turn out the lights, and at the last moment return to my computer to lock it out. I don’t feel like showing up tomorrow with my computer reformatted again by an office prank, though I did come out ahead in the last war.

The parking lot is nearly empty. The second shift is here, but all the project personnel and most of management had left an hour ago. I get in my old car and turn the key. My ears are assaulted by the radio until I turn the dial down. I can’t help but laugh at the daily contrast. In my office I can listen to music at one tick above muted, but because of the car engine I need the music louder to even hear it and always forget to turn it down before I get out.

It is only a few seconds before I’m at the stop sign and turning down the road. A second stop sign, a patient wait for a few semis, then I’m traveling down the highway. Work stays strictly in the rear view mirror. Now my mind gets to wander freely.

The sun is hanging low over the western hills, casting everything in those beautiful evening hues. I glance around at the orchards laden with fruit. I’d love to own a place like that, an orchard with a big house and room to do things. The highway curves and I see a familiar road. I’ll be home late anyway, I say to myself as I direct the car to turn.

This way goes through the heart of the orchards. On either side I find pears, apples, and cherries in their varying ripeness. Here workers are harvesting the last of today’s haul before they too go home. Over there the work has not started yet, but it won’t be more than a few weeks.

The road dips down for a moment, then we rise to another country. The trees disappear as cattle and horses move along the pastures. One field is full of llamas. I’ve never questioned it. Back home there was a corner lot with alpacas, the house across the street had a troop of peacocks, another raised dozens of pigeons that always escaped, and the field by the racetrack had, of all things, a zebra. One field with llamas is hardly anything to pay attention to.

Above the sky is turning purple as I hit the winding curves down the hill. At the bottom is a roaring creek along a hairpin turn. I nearly ended up there during the winter. The creek wasn’t deep enough to swim in, but it was natural enough to meditate beside. Another time. Too many cougar sightings as of late to be on the creek at dusk.

I begin to puzzle at what to do with myself again. After the stress of work I’ll need a vacation. The original plan had been to visit friends down in Arizona, but a family emergency canceled that plan. Catching a flight to Boston to see the Red Sox pops into mind, but this isn’t the time for it. I’d rather go at the end of the season since I’ve never been to Boston in the fall. Maybe I could visit my friend in Alaska. She seemed to be enjoying herself there. No, that would be crazy. Guess I’ll just stay home for a while.

If I could go anywhere though, where would it be? The monastery of Meteora, the Isle of Skye, any of the more touristy parts of Europe were always on my mind. So much history resided on the other side of the ocean, be it in Europe, Africa, or Asia. I just know far more of Europe’s history than the others, but Angkor Wat and Victoria Falls would also be great centerpieces to a long vacation.

Or maybe I could spend a week in NYC and catch as many Broadway productions as I could. No, that required a year of planning. Have you tried to get decent tickets to the best Broadway shows these days? Small bit of a nightmare, especially if your traveling with more than one other person.

The other cities in the US all have their attractions. Not being Portland is always a plus. Grew up near it, and it can keep the weird to itself as far as I’m concerned.

I almost miss the turn towards home. Fortunately no one was coming from the other direction or waiting at the stop sign. Autopilot is a little off tonight. Normally I get almost to the apartments before I need to stop daydreaming. Must be the stress from work tiring me out. My life, no?

Whenever I think of driving on autopilot, I wonder how people would view it. I can see most people freaking out that I’m not focused on the road but am in a daydream state. It’s been ten years and I haven’t hit anything yet. That’s both while driving and while walking.

It’s a quirk about myself that I greatly enjoy because I no longer see my surroundings but also stop hearing the noise around me. I get to visit whatever place I want or any world I’ve created whenever I so choose. All well and good, until someone tries to get my attention and can’t get through the internal monologue. Another reason people would likely freak out at my autopilot skills.

I make the last turn and pull into the apartments. Within a minute I’ve gotten my mail and am opening my door to be greeted by the delectable smell of a long simmering roast in the slow cooker. After checking to make sure that all the mail is indeed spam, I turn on the stove and prepare the rest of the meal. Within minutes I have the potatoes peeled and sliced, corn has been taken from the freezer, and both are now boiling in their respective pots. I add salt until the taste is right and then clear the table while I wait. Two paintings in varying stages of completion are moved to the spare room, last night’s dishes are moved to the sink, and I set the music to Chopin. I pour a glass of milk, down it because I was thirstier than I thought, and pour another.

The mental clock goes off. Sure enough, everything is ready. Once the corn and potatoes are strained, I add butter and milk to the potatoes before taking a whisk to them. A helping of potatoes goes on the plate, then I crater them and place the corn in the center. A habit I picked up in elementary school after reading a book. The roast is removed and cut into portions. One will be for tonight, the rest for the next few nights.

Right before I take a bite, my phone buzzes. I recognize the tone immediately and check. Once I read the message my heart skips a beat. “Been a while since we talked. Free tonight?”

My dinner is cold by the time I return to it, but a smile feels permanently fixed to my face. Alaska wasn’t so crazy a plan after all.

My life, no?