I'm Working On It!

I thought I was clever thinking of a smart retort for Mr. Pant should he ask me again about that stupid report. That's so like me to think of a smartass reply AFTER the opportunity to be effective has passed. What bothers me most about this situation is that the damned encounter bothers me at all. I can't think of one celluloid hero who would respond as I did. Jack Lemmon? Well, maybe; but, in the end, he'd figure it out and wouldn't -- in the end -- look like a jackass. Wish I could same the same for Self.

Meanwhile, the creep hasn't showed up while I've been at the Center and worked out. I've asked some members of the staff -- at the reception desk, two of the trainers, and the maintenance man -- what they could tell me about Mr. Pant. Two of the trainers, Nicole and Charlie, just looked at each other and hunched their shoulders as if to say, "we haven't a clue". Does that make sense to you? Hannah, at the reception desk, put her hand gently over her mouth and smiled (or suppressed a laugh, I couldn't tell). Norm, the maintenance guy (I think that's his name), just shook his head, and then, kept shaking his head as though the question or thought brought forth a spell of agititus. If I had to summarize my limited inquires I'd say -- the staff jolly well knows who I was referring to but they weren't about to tell me anything. Growl.

Did I mention what my BW said the other day? No, I think not. Looking me up and down one morning after I returned from my work out, she blurted out, "what's the matter, you feeling alright?" Naturally, I responded just as any normal spouse would and turned on my puzzled look, "why do you ask?" Because you look puzzled about something -- and, I watched you as you got out of the car and you were mumbling to yourself, it looked like to me. Finding myself in the headlights of her sharp intuitive powers, I did as anyone in my shoes would do, I denied it. "Hey, I'm feeling just dandy. What's for lunch?" She stared at me for a brief moment (giving her time to decide with her computer logic mind, whether to feign indifference or simply lay off and pursue the matter more vigorously when I'm disarmed, like when getting ready for bed when she knows damn good and well my defenses are shut down).

Well, right now, I'm in my study and safe from prying eyes or scanning ears. I can confide in you, I hope. I have gone through -- systematically, I must say -- my proven routines of denial. I have busied myself with a spurt of clearing my cluttered desk. I've jotted off enotes to friends I have been neglecting for too long. I've talked with my children a couple of times, and when they ask me "What's up?" or "What's new?" I, of course, sigh and say there ain't nothing to report (aware only of my illogical ungrammar) . These are only a few of my tried and true tactics in my denial repertoire. Naturally, I'm in the early stages of denial and if you're at all skilled in advanced denial stratagems, you know that it is physically impossible to quit denying, you know, cold turkey. It's an organic process and each stage must be completed before you can go onto the next stage. That's elementary, right?

Just what is it I'm in denial about? Isn't it obvious? I can't refrain from worrying about my worrying about this absurd situation. Who is this Mr. Pant and why on earth should I even give him the time of day? Tomorrow, I'm going to sit down and discuss this dilemma with myself -- mano-a-mano. Yes?