I had some dreams ... they were klowns in my koffee.

(With apologies to Carly Simon)

This is my journey through job transition from a toxic environment to a better life. Join me for a few thoughts and a few laughs along the way.
What are "klowns in my koffee"? They are the factors large and small that make you less than you are. A "klown" can be a grossly incompetent boss,
a short-sighted policy or a moronic coworker. They won't kill you, at least not immediately, but they abrade the soul
as you scrape past them to get through the day. Sometimes it's best to dump them out of the cup.


Day 271 - This Little Light of Mine

Daily Kup (My Life as an Elf)
This morning, Mr. T woke up with half his face immensely swollen. As a giant dental abscess was not on his list for Santa, he hurriedly contacted his dentist. She did the 'I told you so' dance before setting him up with an emergency tooth-yanker who had the distinction of not being on our insurance and then closing her office for the holidays without setting out the X-rays and the required written referral. I'm recommending coal for her stocking.

Dr. Pliers, after being shown three times that he was on the list from the insurance company, decided that maybe he was and then got down to the yanking, spitting and swearing part of the show. Mr. T did not ask for the tooth so he gets squat from the Tooth Fairy. It's probably just as well since all the magical airspace is taken over by the big guy with the reindeer for the next day or so.

T came home still swollen but with two big bottles of pills and an overwhelming need to sit on the couch and let the world move around him.

We did.

Oh, Holy Light
I capped my holiday shopping and was dragging home my bags of this and that for this one and that one. It was not snowing. That was a rare few minutes, so I'll repeat myself. It was not snowing.

The tires felt sure and solid on the road and I didn't even need to be in four wheel drive. For all the upheaval involved with the dental emergency, that had at least been resolved successfully. I had a happy thought: For the one of the first times in four years, I wasn't going to have to worry about the car on the upcoming holiday roadtrip. I'd paid a king's ransom after the Thanksgiving breakdown -- the car's, not mine -- to fix everything identified as requiring repair or replacement. It seemed odd that the Check Engine light, my orange companion for months and months, was now dark and silent.

I glanced down at the indicator bank to bask in the blackness that was the absence of fear.

And then the engine light came on.

My 12 Days of Christmas

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