Funny old business

Life can be a funny old business, by which I mean odd or surprising rather than comical. And it’s remorseless, by which I mean it just keeps coming at you until one day, I suppose, it will simply stop; life, that is. By that time it will be too late to care. You’ll be done.

Today set off that ‘funny old business’ thought. It seems like quite a day to me but there weren’t hundreds of people dieing in bush fires rampaging through sleepy hollows. The remains of my five-year old son were not found by X-Ray examination inside the gut of a 3-metre crocodile. (I don’t have a son, by the way. Just in case anyone is wondering.) No planes fell out of the sky. Nevertheless, it seemed like quite a day to me.

It began in bed, as most (but not all) days begin. After ten days of thick, dark clouds and never-ending rain there was a clear blue sky. My girlfriend and I lay naked on the bed, the room bathed in sunshine; sleep clouding our eyes, the intermittent trill of the alarm on the phone insisting that we make a move. But it wasn’t simply the unparalleled delight of that situation which made me want to loiter in my adolescent’s idyll.

The world into which I was required to enter once again seemed like an alien place, a potentially hostile environment where I might come under attack, where I would feel it necessary to defend myself. I can fight (if I must). And when I feel that I have no option but to fight, I fight to win. But fighting ... even when the need is forced upon you, even when you win the fight and believe yourself to have been justified in fighting to defend yourself ... takes away a little part of what it is that makes you good. It diminishes you.

So, my day started by being vaguely aware of an alarm in the far-distant background. I became less vaguely aware of my girlfriend’s hand around mine then caressing my arm. That felt good. I felt good.

Almost immediately, however, my consciousness let in the recollection of the papers I’d received at my office at the end of yesterday. A disgruntled … I think disturbed … staff member, departing to another agency, had lodged a formal grievance against me with the Department’s Ethics & Professional Standards Unit. My Director General had written to me with a copy of the claims. I know they’re the bullshit products of a woman who has created her own, imaginary world of grievances against everyone (or mostly everyone) she works alongside. She's boxed herself into a tight corner and I think she believes / hopes no one will see what she has done to herself if she throws a lot of shit over someone else. I’m the biggest target in her ridiculous sights. Shoot the boss. He doesn’t matter because bosses never do.

The whole tedious affair had already sucked out the morale and lightness of our small office world. It's had the effect of mustard gas in no man’s land. I can’t recall an occasion on which I felt more demoralised. All I wanted to do was stay in bed, safe. But that’s never possible; not even desirable really. The world we live in simply doesn’t work like that. So I hauled myself into engagement with the day and with my girlfriend’s support and encouragement got on with the funny old business.

The day took (for me at least) a slightly surreal turn after lunch. We had a robbery at work last week. A staff member (not the woman who has complained about me) is implicated. I’ve been reporting to and taking advice from the manager of our Ethics & Professional Standards Unit. She’s been reporting my actions to our Director General. Naturally, she’s not mentioned a word to me that for the past two weeks she’s been receiving the complaint against me and preparing the paper work for the DG to sign. That’s the paper work I received yesterday, recollection of which nearly ruined my start to today.

So … we have our Council meeting today. The whole staff team is present (except my accuser, who is on very convenient sick leave until her secondment comes through … no need to face the consequence of your own maliciousness when you’re ‘sick’.) Shortly before the Director General arrives for his once in eighteen months meeting with our Council, the staff member who’s implicated in the robbery is called out to be taken away by the police to be interviewed then charged. I’ll have to report that fact to the Ethics manager who will report it to the DG who has just come through the door 18 hours after I received his letter about the allegations against me, including the paper work prepared by the Ethics manager I’ll update on progress with the robbery inquiry when our meeting closes after the DG finishes his spiel. By the time I get to speak to the Ethics manager she’s discussed with the DG, who has just returned to his office from our meeting, what she expects to be told by me. When we speak, me and the Ethics manager agree that our circumstances are somewhat different from ordinary.

And now I’m at home, alone at the end of this bizarre day. (There’s been more to the day to add complexity but they’re just details so why waste effort recalling them?)

I’ve spoken on the phone with my girlfriend, which always lifts my spirits. She’s back at her parents’ place in the country. Among other topics, we talked about the stars that she could see above her: Orion, the Southern Cross, the millions in the Milky Way. I’m listening to one of her CDs – Ya! by Felpeyu. And I’m writing …writing no more than this inconsequential tale (of no interest to almost everybody except me). But I’m writing, so that’s constructive.

My day ends well enough. It started brilliantly with the lightest of touches registering in my sleepy head. Everything in between is what it is: the funny old business called life.