terrshee's Diaryland Diary

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A Tired Friday

Winding down, winding up. Today constituted a huge dent in the to-do list of random stupid crap that I kept forgetting to take care of, like making an appointment to get the cat's teeth cleaned. Exciting, I know.

It is better than yesterday when I spent much of my morning grumbling at an otherwise reliable co-worker who decided it was a good day to drop his girlfriend's child off at day care and leave the desk to me. There's a fussy monthly set of numbers to collect off two different sources that are published roughly around the same time, but not routinely so, and it is a royal pain to try to do, especially on one's own.

So I was trying to juggle my work, his work and other random intrusions when our London office calls and asks if we are watching Bush on CNN. I realize that there were incredibly more significant things going on in the world than my struggles with the monthly same-store sales reports, but it was my task and it couldn't be ignored. We have a prefectly good editorial desk in Frankfurt, yet they routinely call here. I was rather brusque with a "no" and the poor guy got the hint and called Frankfurt. I suppose I could (or even should) have dropped everything and tortured myself (I loathe the way Bush speaks). But there are times when no matter how petty, there is the job in front of you and important or not, it has to be done, 'cause you'll get an earfull later if it isn't.

Then I had to spend the rest of the day listening to blustering and posturing. You can't declare we won't let our priciples be compromised and then run around limiting civil liberties to try to deal with the terrorists (if that in fact is the motivation). You can't say we won't be cowed when people start looking over their shoulders in fear or driving rather than taking mass transit. I don't find the rhetoric either reassuring or inspiring.

I'm remembering a story from the French Revolution. Apparently one of the reasons the Terror ended was that a famed noble courtesan didn't go to the guillotine with quiet dignity and scorn for the mob as so many of her compatriots did. She shrieked and wept and begged for mercy, and some in the crowd began to recall that this woman had, outside of the obvious, been a devout and charitable person. And thus was conscience reawoken.

There's not an exact parallel, but some part of me believes that righteous grief needs a place here, not just stoic declarations. Let's get real.

1:42 p.m. - 2005-07-08
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