Asunder

I just want to watch all the 70s disaster movies.

The Towering Inferno. The Poseidon Adventure. Airport. The China Syndrome. Brainstorm. The Omega Man. Earthquake.

It all came to a head this morning in the tech office. The long simmering, now foaming at the mouth glissando of it all; how my homesickness has reached critical mass and my civil disobedience at the implemented “reverse curfew”;

The reminder of how tenuous and transient things all are, and how desperately I want a place to rest my head with some sense of security.

I really let them have it, with my usual cut-to-the-quickness of it. My stubbornness on full display, hard as a diamond and unrelenting as one, too.

I told them my heart isn’t in it (“what you resist, persists”); I told them I’m not a right fit for this program. I told them my frustration is unrelenting and I just want to go home, how my stance has never changed, only slightly softened.

Always an impasse.

I just want to watch 1970s disaster movies and hear Burt Lancaster growling and Ava Gardner stirring trouble while drowning down a bourbon while the San Andreas fault tears itself asunder.

Why not? Motion pictures are a mirror of our lives anyway.