Morning Pages Day 6 -- Jan 11, 2022

I’m hiding something from myself. I don’t want to write about __________. It is the elephant in the room. It is the 130 lb lump of consistently inconsistent hypocrisy lying on my couch. Something about this guy is bugging me, but I don’t want to say what it is, since it’s kind of personal, and I don’t want to slander myself. So, there is this one walled off area, a giant septic tank, and it’s getting full, but I am afraid to lift the cover because it has been on there for 14 years, and I’m afraid to damage the tank by prying it off.

That part is not a metaphor. That is really the state of my septic tank. I noticed a depression in the earth below my well house. It looked conspicuously close to where I remembered seeing them dig up my septic tank to pump it out and inspect it when I first moved here. I was afraid it might be getting full, so I dug it up and found the lid was right there where I was digging.

The lid was covered with a plastic garbage bag. I removed the bag and looked underneath. The handle to the lid was broken, and the lid was cemented shut. I remembered when they had tried to get the lid off before how they had broken the handle and wound up having to use a prybar to wrangle the lid off. I also vaguely remember them using some quick dry cement to fill in the crack they had made by prying on the top of the tank. There was about a ½ inch wide by 3 inch long gap between the tank cover and the tank.

I peered into the tank through this little gap, and I could see that the water level was where it should be, about 6 inches from the top. A low water level would indicate a compromised tank. I found a 3 foot long stick and poked down into the broth pot. It came out clean. Ha, well, not clean as in you could use it for shish kabobs, but clean in the sense that it didn’t look like I’d stuck it into the center of some uncooked brownies. No sludge.

That was good enough for me. I put the plastic back in place and re-buried the tank. I couldn’t account for the amount of dirt that had seemingly gone missing. I made a mental note to tread lightly over that area, since some part of the tank could have been breached allowing the dirt to cave in. I’d just as soon not have to make that 911 call:

“911, what is your emergency?”

“Um, I seem to have fallen into my septic tank.”

Yeah, you know how that goes. It goes viral. Someone is going to leak that tape, you just know it.

So, as it stands now, I have a slight depression in the earth that reminds me constantly of the fact that my septic tank is right there, possibly in need of attention. Who knows what I might find if I went ahead and dug up the whole top surface of the tank. A giant rabbit hole filled with the corpses of the dead rabbits that had happened to burrow down and became trapped in the filthy dungeon of decaying fecal matter.

Out of sight, out of mind. I’m fine with not digging around looking for problems. Wait for them to come out in the open of their own accord, then deal with them at that time, is my plan. I don’t sweep things under the carpet. But if there is something lurking under my carpet, I’m not going to be the one to peel it up and look for it. Let sleeping dogs lie.

And lie they do. Like a kid stealing cookies from the cookie jar. Once the deed is done, they will lie to everyone, even themselves, about their guilty deed. So, too, am I lying to myself, or at least not being completely open with myself about doing _______. I know that I stole the cookies. I know there’s something amiss in my septic tank. But I don’t want to deal with that right now. I just don’t feel like getting into the nuts and bolts.

So, this is me in avoidance mode. I’ll be walking around that giant depression in the earth, ignoring the lump under the carpet and claiming ignorance of the missing cookies. That’s just how it’s going to be. Some secrets are going to the grave with me. I’ll sort them out later.

Well, that’s a load off. Not really off, but re-shifted. I am actually fine with my actions. A complete sociopath, I tell myself on my good days. Why feel guilt? I’m not actually hurting anyone, am I? What’s that they say, “What they don’t know won’t hurt them?”

I’m not hurting anyone directly. I’m not even lying. I’m just giving full disclosure a vacation. My _______ is on a need to know basis. So who needs to know?

Well, I for one, need to know. And since I already know, there’s no point in flailing myself over it. I stand by my sins. When I stand before God, I and have to account for all that nonsense, I’ll be ready with my excuses.

This is not about the cat food that I stole from Walmart the other day. That was a crime of laziness. I thought I’d scanned all the items, but as I was halfway out the door I remembered the case of Friskies which had been under another item in the cart. I just kept pushing my cart past security, knowing full well that I had an unpaid for item in there. I was just too lazy to go back through the line.

A friend that I told about this suggested that I double scan the item the next time around.

Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I’m not proud of that little cat food burglary, but I’m not repenting either.

Is it bigger than a breadbox? Did I kill someone? No, that was ruled out when I said that it was a victimless crime.

“God dammit! What is it?” Honey Bunny said with anxious anticipation.

“Is that what I think it is?” Ringo asked Jules as he stared into the open briefcase, its luminous contents casting a golden glow on his face.

“Uh-huh,” said Jules.

“It’s beautiful,” said Ringo transfixed by the shimmering vision of whatever was in the case.

It never got revealed what was in that case that Jules and Vincent were retrieving for Marcellus. It is just assumed that it was gold bars. I’ll let you assume what you like about what I am concealing. If you ask me if it is what you think it is, I will say, “Uh-huh.”

Meanwhile, back in obsessive-land. I am having second thoughts about the amp I ordered. It hasn’t been shipped yet, but my credit card has been debited. My second thoughts are not that I may have been ripped off for $1200 by a fraudulent seller. They have only positive feedback on their site. My concern is more that I bought a giant amp that is going to be too big for me to ever haul around anywhere. And if I never haul it anywhere, why would I need an amp this loud and heavy just to play in my little room?

Also it is nearly 40 years old. Like a classic car, it is sure to have some issues down the road. It may have just gotten repaired, so now it is up and running, but for how long?

I messaged the seller to see when they anticipated shipment. I am waiting to hear back from them. I just heard an email alert. Is it them? Nope. Just another spam email from Presonus.

Presonus is the audio interface and recording software that I bought a few years ago to try to get back into multi-track recording. I installed the device on my PC and am using it in lieu of a sound card. The recording software, however, is very confusing, and I seldom use it. I never got familiar with all the terms and drop down menus. I hardly know where to look to access the right menus, and every time I go to use it, I wind up having to relearn what I barely was grasping the last time I tried to figure it out. It’s like I’m playing hopscotch in reverse.

This has been fun. Well, not really. I’m just saying that. Fun would be me saying, “I ____ a ____ in the _____ last night” just to watch your reaction.

I got myself removed from the mailing list of some right wing Christian university. They mass mail this horribly political newsletter each month, and every time I get it, I find myself triggered by the outrageous claims on their headlines, mostly pro-Trump, anti-vax, anti-anything progressive or liberal. I don’t give a damn about any of the causes, for or against, but I just don’t like their certitude. It smacks of Rush Limbaugh. Is he still alive, I wonder? Note to self: Google “Rush Limbaugh” and find out if he’s still alive. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead.

That’s probably a good policy. When I’m dead, I’d like to not think that there are people speaking ill of me. It’s the kind of thing that will keep a person hanging around, never going to the light. One can’t defend their actions when they are dead. It’s a done deal. So, let the dead be, already. Unless, of course, there is some cautionary tale to be told, some justification for making the dead person’s life an example of what not to do. Oooh..I’m done. Yippie.