The Guilt of the Displaced

I’m back to work today. I’m actually glad to be back. I was vacationing on company time this past week, occasionally wracked with pangs of guilt as I pounded my Rock Band 2 plastic toms and cymbals and leveled my LotRO minstrel, Lukenbach. I ought not feel badly; if not gaming, I would have otherwise twiddled my thumbs. But while playing, I vaguely discerned the tremor rippling through the universe. I should not have been home enjoying gaming goodness. I was supposed to be plying my trade, earning a living, gathering taxes to pay for the government bailout of Wall Street investment banks. Drumming out Pearl Jam’s Alive isn’t nearly as satisfying behind the backdrop of subtle uneasiness.

But I’m back now. The ripple’s current has expanded into nothingness. The universe has settled down. My guilt is assuaged.

My school didn’t have power yesterday. My principal planned on shipping the entire staff out to another school location. But when I pulled up to the parking lot this morning, the building’s lights burned like an offshore lighthouse. I eased myself into port, relieved that I wouldn’t have to be an employee evacuee.

I can’t tell you how grateful I am that the school is juiced up. At my A Team meeting this morning, Howie D. (our nickname for the principal) informed us that if the school didn’t have power tomorrow, the building’s student and staff population would have been diverted to the nearest high school. In other words, we would have suffered the effects of another hurricane, a storm of Herculean logistics and scheduling.

We don’t have students today, only a hodpog of hastily assembled meetings. I can’t wait to get home and finish Lukenbach’s worm deed.

I rebound from guilt quite resiliently