Unfortunately life is in the details. It is in the dollars and cents of my student loans, it is in what is said between friends, between colleagues. It is in an offside knowing glance of a doctor and the troponin level of a patient with a myocardial infarction (heart attack). I know how important these details are but somehow I am missing the nuerological wiring that allows me to focus on the details.
Perhaps I picked the wrong profession.
Every day the iron vice of fear grabs my head and tugs it toward the details. Beautifully intricately designed life with its checks and balances occassionaly slaps me swiftly across the face leaving the sting of consequence when my gaze wanders absentmindidly. If there were no consequences I can only imagine what kind of monster I would become. I would inevitably tip toe a little further from morality and decency every day that life gave me a couple of inches eventually ending up a fat unemployed multiple cat owner or as a dictator of a small island nation negotiating with my small but growing nuclear arsenal. Thankfully, reality keeps me suspended somewhere in between the two poles although I do occassionaly tend to drift closer to one side.
Usually...it is the side of the obese cat owner.
Just to bring this point home lets explore my latest missed detail.
Mr Detail: I have the honor and privilege as a fairly recent graduate who has attended a private university to pay a sizable amount of school loans. Despite holding a college degree and keeping myself alive for 23 years I have had trouble trying to figure out how to pay for my loans. No not in typical financial terms but in the misstep of being slightly dyslexic. I Evelyn Robarts have typed in the wrong checking account number not once but twice. Yes, ladies in gentlemen all of the loans I have tried to pay in the last 2 months have been sent back due to this minor error, "detail." Luckily for me there is a lovely penalty expense for those who make such errors as I and as a result I have learned a valuable life lesson.
Maybe....
Because what I really do care to think about is exhaustion. All the details pale in comparison to the inviting loving embrace of my crib like contraption that whispers sweet nothings of happiness into my REM cycle. The adjective tired is a huge overlying cloud (not detail) that makes me disparage fun, happiness, friendship, work, school loans, troponin levels, detail 7, detail 8, detail 9 and detail 100 thousand.
Perhaps one day through endless trial and error my circuits will rewire well enough to successfully complete a detail oriented task. Till that day I continue to dream of sleep and the future which just happen to be nebulous enough to keep me interested.
