Author's Note: Well, this was not light and fluffy was it! I knew this was going to be a heavy slog, but man! My intention was not to make you cry, but as I did when I wrote this, that seems fair. Too many feels! Looking for lighter topics next.
An Eye on the Sparrow
What should I do? Maybe I am not meant to fit here. Am I too inquisitive? Too impulsive? This is what happens when you make the mistake of letting colleagues get close and start thinking of them as friends. We are clearly not friends, and although I haven't submitted my resignation letter yet, it is going to stay in my handbag for the foreseeable future.
Sometimes, I want to hit Oliver O'Toole over the head with a stick. Sometimes, I dream of our resident bear waking from his hibernation and chasing Oliver around the DLO until our ursine compatriot mauls him with a single swipe of his paw. Sometimes I want to give him a hug and tell him that however awful things are now, they will get better. Today was unique. At various points, I was devoutly wishing for all three.
I admit it. I arrived at work in a less than gracious mood. It was not ideal to have two days through which I not only harboured, but also cultivated a grudge. Oliver O'Toole cast me off, like last year's fashion. Ha! What exactly was the difference between the 1953 and 1954 cut of gentlemen's suits?
Okay! I was petty, vindictive and, for today at least, the champion of snark. I may have even tried to take out my section leader, the poster boy for good faith, by running him over with my desk. The initial objective was to move myself as far away from Oliver as possible, but causing him bodily injury would have been a surprisingly welcome bonus.
Oliver didn't help the dizzying spiral that our day became with his pointed jabs about cleverness and technology, but I think I was the one who set it on fire and threw it, perhaps irretrievably, into the dumpster of workplace relations. What was he trying to say? That I was his intellectual inferior? That a reliance on computers made me somehow less? If he hadn't annoyed me. I probably wouldn't have done it, but with Rita telling me his wife's name, and his vitriol making me keen to prove a point, I did a very bad thing.
I mean, it started as curiosity, wanting to know something about the elusive Holly O'Toole, and because maybe I wanted Oliver to have some options, to know where she was so he could make contact, instead of waiting, frozen in inaction. I mean, I cared, or maybe I do care? But Pope tells us that, 'A little learning is a dangerous thing.' Knowing the truth meant I had to decide what to do with it.
After finding the location of Caitlyn and Vanessa's quest, Oliver and I sat warily on the porch of the Little Switzerland store. It's funny - Oliver is such an inside cat, but every now and again he waxes lyrical about some vista or … sparrow? I mean who really cares about the flight patterns of sparrows? Oh right, Oliver O'Toole. Or maybe he wanted to show off his erudition, making me look technologically dependent and mediocre. He did sound pleased with himself when he linked the bird to Emily Dickinson's cheerful poetry. I get it, you're clever.
Then it happened. Oliver and I had an ugly argument from which we might not recover. Anger and hurt do not mix well with meddling, frustration, and guilt.
Diary, I think I really made a mess today, one that I don't know if I can fix. I keep writing, hoping that it will help, or clarity will come, but I seem to be avoiding what I really need to express. I just feel so…. sad. I am sad for Oliver, such a good, caring and faithful husband waiting, for his clearly uncaring (I don't know if I can comment on the goodness or faithfulness of Holly, even if I might guess) wife. He thought us dancing together might look bad. Does he think his marriage should be penance and no fun is allowed? I am sad for me too. I know that I have hurt someone who I think might be my closest friend. Do I mean that? Yeh, I think I do. Oliver O'Toole is my friend, and regardless of my intentions, I hurt him today and don't know how to take it back. I started this diary entry in pique, but I think I was right. I need to reinforce the barricades and stop people, and one in particular, from getting close.
And this letter! Two sisters at odds. I feel as though the whole postal firmament is tormenting me. I know I have to reconnect with Alex, but at the moment, I can't. Would we find it as simple to mend the past as Caitlyn and Vanessa? I don't think so, and I know that part of the responsibility for that is mine. I need to make sure that I do not say something from which there is no recovery. I am the one who is keeping her at a distance – I am the cold one. But now, more than ever, I need to protect my heart.
Walking to the lookout to allow the sisters to farewell their mother was uncomfortable. I thought about asking to remain behind with Maggie at the store, using the excuse of my impractical shoes, but I didn't. I am not going to hope that Oliver reaching out his hand to help me navigate the terrain was metaphorical in any way. He was as polite as he would have been to a stranger.
Watching Caitlyn and Vanessa saying goodbye was beautiful but uncomfortable. I couldn't help but selfishly wallow as I listened to Oliver recite the lyrics to an old hymn. I looked it up (on my computer), wanting to get the words correct. I am not sure that Oliver did, but I think I liked his version better.
Whenever I have sorrow,
Whenever clouds arise;
When songs give place to sighing,
When hope within me dies,
I draw the closer to him,
From care he sets me free;
His eye is on the sparrow,
And I know he watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow,
And I know he watches me.
Thoughts of Dad, Alex, Mom and Oliver churned in my head as he spoke. Dad was my sorrow, and our unresolved relationship was the hope that died. Alex and Mom were the relationships that should be songs but have become sighs. Oliver and our friendship is currently the clouds that promise storms. I know that Oliver is upset (an upset that I brought about), but I am still slightly jealous of him. He has his faith to give him comfort, to help him deal with his sorrow. What do I have?
Diary I know I need to share more about Rita, and Kimmy, about roller skates and Benjamin Franklin, but tonight I think I need to stop. They are subjects for a light heart, and mine is currently too heavy for those.