The Day had overstayed ITs welcome.
With its myriad of twists, challenges, dynamic monotony, and insults
at long last fading from present to past, and having attained my one
saving grace in the form of supper with the family, my soul heaved
the sigh of one far older than I. Can a person grow so weary from
life's grind that the cumulative fatigue becomes a debt so heavy, so
complete, that the ledger may never be balanced through rest in this
lifetime?
I shuddered at that, then deftly drove
Discouragement, terror stricken, back into the dank cell located in
the deepest recesses of my mind from whence she had plotted her
escape. Slammed the heavy door, locked the deadbolt, stopped up my
ears to retreat hastily back into the relative light of logic, and
rationalization. (Stupid Discouragement. She's like a present-day
Houdini.)
I do this so others don't have to.
They need not understand the daunting price. In fact, I hope they
never do.
Besides, I am not even the most tired
person in the room. My wife almost didn't even make it to the table
this night. She nearly dragged herself past us in favour of her bed,
or perhaps even the hard floor beside the bed. She's different that
way. I looked at her, and heard Guilt subtly project his voice from
his cell way back next to Discouragement's. Though his words did not
carry distinctly enough through the gray fog, I knew what he would
say if I let him out and removed that gag to loose his forked,
critical tongue. Something about my supposed sacrifices not being
enough to protect her from this fate, that my weakness is the reason
she is even more overextended than I am. And yet, this is the lot
we'd chosen. Together. No, I am not completely alone. (Not yet,
anyway)
I glanced over my shoulder at The Day
and its devious designs for me, my dulled eyes showing just a hint of
the stubborn gleam of triumph. I, still breathing... IT, now quickly
running out of air. IT'd had its chances, and had made full use of
the opportunities. And yet here I was, in one piece. “Next
time!”, IT seemed to growl. “I nearly had you.”
I relaxed. Partly out of fatigue, and
partly out of confidence that IT had given up. The Day was beaten
and was slinking toward the exit. I had survived, if only barely. I
finally gave this admission permission to fully form in my mind ...
It was a mistake.
My wife put down the worship book and
pushed herself away from the supper table. “Ok, you all get to
help me tonight.” What? “We have 50 pounds of cabbage heads to
chop. Let's make sauerkraut!!”
I was a cabbage head! The Day whipped
around and slapped me upside my leafy cranium, then leered at my
shock. IT laughed with unmitigated glee, both at the look on my face
and at IT's own clever playing of the Opposum card. I had finally
let my guard down, and with one sentence, I was defeated.
What had suddenly possessed this
crippled and frail wife of mine? Was she controlled by IT, or was
she doing this of her own accord just to taunt me? In any event, she
had revived miraculously, and I was left to ponder one of the great
mysteries of the universe. I'll never understand women.
But help we did. We chopped, we
sliced, we willed those heads into near infinitesimal oblivion. We
experimented to discover the ultimate way to effectively shred the
unending legion of cabbage heads that, it turns out, were hiding in
every dark and cool recess of the house. Hacking with a cleaver,
slicing with a serrated bread knife, they all worked. But not nearly
quickly enough.
One of our number, who tried slicing
the cabbage in half-inch cubes, was asked if he knew what sauerkraut
looked like, and if so, how he expected his behemoth chunks to
miraculously form themselves into the German mayo-less coleslaw. He
did not know and admitted as much. Though, to be fair, I do not
believe he knew what sauerkraut actually looked like. How could he?
Sauerkraut was supposed to be something never actually seen,
something to make jokes about. Yet on this night, no one was
laughing.
Counter space and cutting board time
was at a premium, but eventually we packed two 5-gallon buckets with
the stuff. I was instructed to rinse out one of those buckets before
adding cabbage, as it had most recently hosted home-made laundry
detergent (or some such substance). “Great!” I thought wryly to
myself. “At least this batch will taste extra clean.” I was
instructed not to be ridiculous, which I made an honest, half hearted
effort to do. (or was that 'not do'? I can't not dislike double
negatives) We'll see.
The rest of the evening was a blur. In
truth, it made for good family bonding time so long as we restrained
ourselves from cursing randomly or muttering incoherently. I should
have taken some pictures as it was something of a spectacle. In any
event, it was with some satisfaction that, as my head finally hit the
pillow, I noted that my dear wife was already fast asleep. I wonder
what unexpected curve-balls The Day will throw at me when next I open
my eyes.
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