Sorting things out

Just as there is no ship to take you away from yourself (“and you travel the suburbs of your own mind”), seemingly there is no escaping life’s daily annoyances howsoever remotely anchored. Now with the benefit of near-instant communication by email and Message, the sometimes unwelcome news from home reaches us wherever we’re moored. The complaint is assuaged by the philosophic knowledge that, with a degree of application and good intention, things may be sorted out. In the end the greatest disruption of one’s universal agenda is likely confined to a temporary nuisance or momentary interference with sun bathing. Neither of which is assured to attract any sympathy.

Nonetheless my obsessive nature continues to alert me to whatever complaint exists; and my commission to perfection mars me in the mud at least until I am satisfied with the progress toward remediation. Admittedly the intolerance is akin to an annoying gnat darting in and out of the sphere of one’s immediate vision. Still it constitutes violation of one’s space even if its legitimacy is questionable. There are moments when I seek to graduate the dilemma to a contractual issue entitling me to compensation. This provocation inevitably becomes unsustainable in other than an imaginary world.

It is however the very uncertainty, this immediate lack of clarity, which propels the initial irritation to a state of conscription from which one is imprisoned. It is a discomforting feeling, unbalancing and disruptive.

By way of post scriptum I am thrilled to add to this aggravating congestion that we have since communicated with the engineering staff of Inverness Homes, the property manager and our personal housekeeper. In the process we’ve succeeded to resolve both the predominantly compelling mechanical issue as well as the less distracting matter of a communication from the US Department of Homeland Security. We’ve also cleared the dust upon the property manager’s App of which she has sole governance. The world has returned to Middle C.