Sisyphian Feats

I woke up from a dream this morning wherein a case that I have been desperately trying to rid myself of had finally settled.  Its been a highly contentious matter with the ugly motions being filed and a number of shenanigans which should have never been pulled.  I leveled with the other attorney, a female with very weak legal skills but with a power-player boss whose methods of winning cases involves making sure that whatever judge is hearing the case knows that he is one of the attorneys in the case prior to the docket being called. 

In the dream, I asked her to put aside the ugliness and bitterness so that this case could be drawn to a close, and she agreed. 

And then I woke up, more than a little amused by my dream, whether it was a message sent to me of divine origin, or my own subconscious advising me how to resolve the case, and smile spread across my face, a grin at my own expense, because I knew that, due to the hostile nature of the case, it was never going to be resolved if I remained the attorney on the case with the other attorneys on the other side.

It was seven in the morning, a late wake-up time, and I changed the channel to Good Morning America.  Being the weekend, a new slate of hosts not present during the weekday broadcasts were at the desk.  I enjoy these hosts much more than the weekday hosts.  They are the second string team, and they appear to know it.  The stories they deliver are less vital, less urgent.  They appear to more liberal with their commentary knowing that there is not much scrutiny for what they say.  As a result, they are much more entertaining.  It may even be that there is a chemistry among the hosts which doesn’t exist between the weekday hosts.

I watched a few moments of the show.  But today was about work.  Valerie is supposed to come home on Tuesday, and the project otherwise known as “Fat Clothes Disposal” was only partially completed.  A pile of clothes still lay on the floor.  And then there was a mound of recycling in the garage which was becoming more and more like a garbage dump which I had to step through to get to the garage door.  I also my supply of underwear had been exhausted and were lying next to the washing machine ready to be cleaned. 

Finally, I was reminded on Friday of book club coming up the following Thursday.  We were supposed to read a book that I had picked out.  I had lazily failed to complete the last couple of books, and I was beginning to wonder whether or not I should continue attending the meetings if I couldn’t get my act together and finish reading the assigned material.  What confused me about it is that I really liked to read and had in the past been very good about reading a least two books a month.  Lately, it hasn’t been that way, and I felt like I had dropped an old friend, not returning its calls.

And so, I had to get up and begin work on the matters that were piling up, literally around my feet. 

Time is such an interesting thing, especially when you throw the balance of work and play into the mix.  I recalled a time when I was watching the O’Reilly Factor where Bill was bloviating on the merits of our country and how anyone can make it if they tried hard enough.  I had heard the statement before like a mantra from so many people.  But there was something in the way that Bill O’Reilly said it, it made me pause and wonder how hard one was supposed to work in order to “make it,” and at the end of the day how much one was supposed to sacrifice in order to do the same.

I think of work a lot like I think of having children.  There are some people who are meant for it.  I remember when I was younger of a friend of my mom’s who had desperately told mom how she was upset that her husband was always working all the time and never had time for her.  It was an odd moment for a child like me, seeing this women confide such personal anguish to my mother especially in my presence.  But, assuming it was true, it was an odd notion, especially for a kid who always like to play but never seemed to have enough time to.

There is the stereotypical work-a-holic.  But I think that there are very few of them.  Although most people would say otherwise, most people probably don’t like working, just like they don’t like having kids all the time.  Let’s face it.  Both are drains on time, moments when we could be doing something else.  We go to work and suffer through the pain of being at the whim of someone else so that we can feed and clothe ourselves.

And all this is funny because we often find identity of who we are in our work.  The first things out of our mouths when we meet someone new is “What line of work are you in?” 

So, needless to say, this morning, the Saturday before Memorial Day, I was not anxious to get out of bed and began the list of things I needed to do before Valerie returned.  But I did.  The key was to jump right in which I did. 

I spent three hours sorting through recycling, putting plastic with plastic, cardboard with cardboard, tin can with tin can.  I took two trips to the recycling center to drop off the multiple trash bags overflowing with recyclable material, all the time cursing the fact that we even started recycling at all. 

I started the laundry, unsure of what I was doing, questioning whether I wanted to learn something new today.

I delve head long into the book, turning off the television to remove its distracting influence. 

And now, the recycling has been hauled away so that the garage floor can be seen and is clear of recycling debris.  I would note that I did not take the newspapers in the laundry room though I passed the multiple piles of them as I loaded and unloaded clothes from the washer and dryer.  Maybe tomorrow.

And now I am a good portion through the book, which it turns out is pretty enjoyable. 

All of it done or almost done, with a sense that I accomplished something that had to be done, did it despite that there was something suffering to it.  Thinking about it now, I realize that meaning in life comes from the little chores that we do, the clothes we wash, the recycling done, the books we’ve read.  It is in remaining stagnant, unattached, in a morass of constant relaxation and stagnation, that we lose meaning. 

It is hard to see that when you are in the mix of the morass.  The hardest time to motivate yourself to do work is when you have to start.  I think of my recent battles with getting up and running in the morning.  It is easier to stay in bed and sleep, blame my inability to a restless night or the emotional turmoil of work.  But the truth is that all of that is just the morass, that if I wanted to really get out of bed, I could.

I don’t believe that everyone who works hard enough can make it in America.  I believe that success is only in part about work, but also, in part, about luck, and, probably most about sacrifice, i.e., the sacrifice of one’s morality and values, the sacrifice of one’s humanity. 

But I also think there is something to be said about that creature who continues to try even though he won’t succeed, the Sisyphus, continuing to roll the rock up the hill.  We view him as continuing in pain and suffering.  But perhaps, as he is rolling that rock, he sees the inches he’s moved and finds satisfaction in that, like a load of laundry done or a garage floor clear of recycling.