Skip to main content

Part 2

Even though Seth hated math he did love symmetry. It soothed his brain when things were perfectly aligned. Tidy. It wasn't because of his upbringing. Or, OK, maybe it was. His home was very strict. Nothing out of place. Everything in it's place. Even his shoes. I'm not saying they "5 S"ed that shit but they totally "5 S"ed that shit. Seth's dad was obsessed with Lean principles. Which is kind of how you need to cultivate the Lean mindset. Or so his dad thought. 

Some people bring work home and others make home their job. That was Seth's mom. She enjoyed the domestic arts. Found them fulfilling. Not because she cared a great deal for her family but mainly because she cared deeply about a nice home. Someplace you can relax. Kick your shoes off. Just make sure those shoes are clean and in their right spot. Her home would be the most relaxing home on the cul de sac. Even if she had to stress and work extra hard to make it so relaxing. Relaxation requires strenuous effort. Or so it seemed. 

Seth was an only child. His parents had to fight to create him. They paid a lot. And Seth was never allowed to forget that. Every birthday was a reminder of the bill he owed them. Both his mom and dad were not into making jokes. Humor was a tool to be used when gaining influence. With family, you have installed influence. Thus, no need for humor in the home. So when his dad presented him with a bill in every birthday card, that shit was legit. 

How was Seth ever to repay the monumental debt of being born working at DQ? I guess it was possible if he saved every dime and survived on the good nature of his fellow human. But that wasn't the world Seth lived in. It really isn't the world any of us live in. Turning his back on the finance profession was turning his back on his birth debt. So it explains why his expulsion from the family relaxation station was so swift. I mean when you don't pay your bills, you don't get the frills. 

All of this came into crystal clear focus over the months as Candy and Seth lived together. Ghosts of his past haunted them both. From time to time Seth would obsess over the fact the spoons never nested properly. It drove him nuts. He even searched for new spoons. A better nesting set. Candy...well Candy would put spoons in the fork section just for fun. She even once put a spoon inside of a glass and put that glass in the dish cupboard. Seth had to take a nap after that one. 

Sometime after Candy left for the archery company, Seth came to her with an idea. An idea that left Candy confused and intrigued. Something wholly unexpected from someone that is wholly predictable. Like, Seth not only pooped on a regular schedule but it also always took the same amount of time. Including wiping. He never wavered. Not once. 

Seth had, apparently, been on a journey of self-discovery. He was going through his childhood. Reliving all the things that made him Seth. Taking inventory of the facts, the moments that built him and his life. Again with the math. It makes sense, though, that someone who doesn't like math would do a lot of surmising.  All of this led him to a conclusion. Something that even he didn't want to admit. Seth...well Seth didn't particularly like himself. Seth was having a crisis. 

And what good is a crisis unless you can drag someone else down? It is just so much more fun with company. This wasn't Seth's intention. At least, not consciously. He had grown to rely on Candy. Even with her little drawer and cupboard pranks. Strike that, especially because of her pranks. Candy didn't realize it or really even care that she was loosening him up. She didn't consider her discourtesy was actually breaking Seth down so he could grow. She didn't know Seth was becoming something, someone else. To put it in other terms, the shit she was giving Seth was just the fertilizer he need to grow.

Candy would eventually regret this. So would Seth. But you gotta break a few eggs to make an omelet. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

What are you running from?

The tiles on the bathroom floor were so cold.  Cold and comfortable.  And the feeling in my stomach reminded me of the benders I had been on during my days in sales.  Sick and empty.  But that floor.  Heaven. That is what I remember about my first 1 mile  run.  Whenever anyone asks me about how/why I started running this is what I tell them.  Why do I start this way?  Simply because it paints the beautiful picture of why runners run.  5kers, marathon (what?) speedsters, ultra beasts and casual pub runners all have the same drive.  All share an obsession.  That obsession is squeezing out every drop of the wonderfully sweet syrup life has to offer.  It starts with pain, but running leaves you enjoying the simple things so much more.  Water.  Plain water even tastes sweet. Now that we are getting to know each other I should let you in on a something all those that  are close to me know.  I talk...a lot.  So, of course the story of how/why I began isn't as simple as me laying on a

I am Sean and that is good enough

It is a feeling I have had before.  Many times, actually.  Yet I can't quite put my finger on what it is or what is causing it.  The feeling is something close to desperation mixed with a morose cloud that is overwhelming but still somewhat subtle.  Constant and buzzing in the background.  It starts in the pit of my stomach.  Washes over me in waves that ebb and flow during the day.  My head is clear but thoughts are jumbled.  It is sad.  It is maddening. It is depression. Recently these feelings have been building. There have been things that I have let get under my skin that have caused me to really be down on myself.  I have withdrawn from friends and family.  This is something I am just now becoming conscious of.  It is my way of giving the ones I care about a break from having to deal with me when I am in a mood like this.  It is selfish and I honestly don't know why I keep doing it.  I apologize. The first time I remember being truly sad was when I was 6.  My grandfat

Anxiety and the Art of Self Resilience

January and February are usually  tough months for me.  Lack of sunshine, work stress and self diagnosed seasonal depression all descend on me at once, in one fell swoop.  This leaves my head swimming with a wonderful cocktail of anxiety and self depreciation.  It isn't uncommon for me to retreat into myself.  Last year I had running to focus on.  Holiday Lake 50k++ on the horizon.  I had things to keep me busy and things to look forward to.  This year... I have Umstead 100 mile endurance race and (had) Holiday Lake 50K++, the return of Mao Mao.   But this year I also have a pretty angry left leg.  My tibia is pissed.  And it has every right to be. I've overworked it even though it has been giving me the warning signs of something being wrong.  In short I haven't enjoyed a run since early December.   But this post isn't about leg pain, leg pain management or for me to complain about the pain.  I have already posted about that many times.  No, this is some bullshit pos