I’ve entered into an inappropriate relationship. And I don’t quite know what to do about it. I know it’s inappropriate because with the deepest fibers of my being I know I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s wrong and I know this. But I can’t seem to stop. The consequences will likely not be good, for either party involved. I really don’t see a good ending, for either one of us. It may be mutually beneficial at the moment, but I just don’t see this ending well. One or both of us will likely be hurt. And the fallout, or collateral damage, could be significant.
I just read that paragraph and it’s quite disjointed, I will admit. But that’s sort of how I’m feeling at the moment. Disjointed and jumbled up inside. Knowing what I need to do, but not wanting to do it. Knowing I need to be “the adult in the room” but truly railing against the dictates of maturity and rationality.
Why must I be the reasonable party? Why must I step up and call it quits?
What am I getting from this inappropriate relationship? How is it beneficial to my life? Is it worth it? Will the guilt that I will inevitably feel overshadow the pleasure I get now? Or will the good outweigh the bad?
On a side note (and simply to detract from my current rumination and hesitation on doing what is right) do you think Attorney General Jefferson Beauregard Sessions might be wondering about his inappropriate relationships of late? Do you think he might be worried about the collateral damage that his clandestine carrying-ons might be causing to him, to his loved ones, to his so-called boss, to his country? Or do you think he might be trying to figure out which lie he told to whom about what regarding his inappropriate relationships?
Oh the tangled web we weave, when at first we try to deceive…
(…or something like that. Shakespeare, no?)
Perhaps Mike Flynn, of recent National Security Council brouhaha fame, might be feeling a bit of angst or regret regarding his inappropriate relationships.
Maybe even the media (I could spend all night listing out specific members of the media who have rankled me to no end in this department…here’s looking at you most specifically @mitchellreports and @VanJones 68) might be finally, FINALLY, reconsidering their inappropriate relationships with our most esteemed Twitler-in-Chief.
But then again, maybe not. This is the fawning, supposedly-librul-elite-but-all-of-us-liberals-know-better media. They have done and seem likely to always do the craziest things when it comes to the Dear Leader.
Back to what has been troubling me of late–inappropriate relationships. When one enters into one, hypothetically speaking of course, one must realize from the outset that it is, for lack of a better word, wrong. Inappropriate if you will. This adds an element of derring-do maybe. The thought that one is doing something on the sly, not mainstream, not sanctioned by rational, ethical, moral adults, seems to up the ante. Makes the stakes higher. Makes the risks riskier. Of being found out. Of being called out. Of being ridiculed or shamed. For doing what one knows, deep down inside, is not the right thing to do and hoping to get a pass.
Feeling these feelings of unease, having the niggling nigglings of self-doubt and hesitation draw attention to the seriousness of the transgression(s). These uncertainties reflect a conscience I believe. A conscience being the ability to delineate right from wrong, to take bold steps to ensure that one walks the straight path, true as an arrow, to speak truth to power. I cannot figure out that last phrase. I have been hearing it daily, for a while now, as if it is in the running to be considered the new lexicon of 2017. Regardless, I’m not quite sure if it is…appropriate…for the above sentence. But, until I’m told otherwise, it will stay. And as the editor is very tired of late, things are slipping by that just never used to in the good old days of yore. You know, back in the days of life with the white picket fences and June Cleaver dresses and pearls; and coal jobs abundant, as far as the eye could see. Not to mention steel factories and textile mills so thick it was like a pea soup of manufacturing. Ahhh…back when America was America, the land of the free
white men and the home of the brave white men. The days of the shining city on the hill, albeit one that was rarely seen through the black smog from the coal mines and steel factories.
Whew. That was a wild meandering; a serious digression. I have no earthly idea, nor one from any other planet either, how that happened. Or why. Please ignore and let’s now get back to our regularly scheduled programming: Inappropriate Relationships. With a capital “I.”
And Consciences. With a capital “C.”
If one has a conscience, then theoretically, one shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t have an inappropriate relationship. One would know better. One would realize the implications of the clandestine affair, the collateral damages if you will. One might then realize that acting on impulses to engage in the inappropriate relationship(s) will only bring downfall and ruin. That may be a bit melodramatic. I should instead write: engaging in inappropriate relationships might could bring angst, discord, disharmony, confusion and despair. (Which, in reality, sound a lot like “downfall and ruin.” But again, lack of an editor and all.)
Being of sound mind and body and conscience, one would then simply not act and not engage in the inappropriate relationship(s). If one had a conscience that is.
By the Transitive Property of Equality (my absolute fave mathematical equality), one could assume that women (and men) entering into and sustaining inappropriate relationships would not possess an adequate conscience. A conscience being defined as that little figure sitting on one’s shoulder (doesn’t matter which side) whispering either quietly in encouragement for good deeds or yelling very loudly in opposition to troublesome actions.
Still with me?
In lieu of this evening’s troublesome, tormented, tribulations regarding possible collusion with the big bad mean country across the pond (see above referencing white picket fences and June Cleaver dresses and steel manufacturing and coal, oh glorious coal–back when it was fashionable to be afraid of this boogey man), one has to ask oneself: is there anyone in our government with a conscience?
Because they sure as heck don’t seem to be having any trouble carrying on with a whole host of inappropriate relationships.
It’s late, my editor is on what seems to be a permanent vacation, I’m meeting with the accountant in the morning and I still have not unburdened myself of my own personal angst.
Because you see, I do have a conscience. And the damn thing niggles at me, all damn day. Sometimes the noise is incessantly loud and obnoxious, usually when I need to pay attention to something of utmost importance. At other times, the noise is a dull roar that can sometimes be relegated to the background. But always, always, it is there. And I am aware of the damn thing. All damn day. And night too for that matter.
I have entered into my own inappropriate relationship. From the time I initially started writing this treatise, that has now blossomed to multiple inappropriate relationships. (Life got in the way and this writing was shelved for a day or two or three.)
I have a conscience and thus know it is inappropriate. And know I must eventually end this, before it is too late. Before there is too much collateral damage.
The first step is admittance. Not to make light of addiction, nor the incredibly helpful programs to address this life-shattering problem. Once that step is taken, one can hopefully move on.
Here is my admittance then, if you will.
You see, this is a fox. And actually, in the spirit of full disclosure, just one of the three foxes that are now frequenting the area. And he is (yes, this is a he as it was anatomically certified) looking in through the front window, presumably wondering where his meal is. Because, and oh, please don’t be judging on me right now, I have–man, you don’t know how difficult this is for me to write–OK, I’m just going to spit it out–I. Have. Been. Feeding. The. Foxes.
(HUGELY big sigh of relief right there.) See? The hardest part is admitting. Now that it’s finally out there, floating around the ethos, I’m feeling a bit freer. My conscience is still screaming at me at decibel levels that are headache-inducing, but I think my steps will be a little bit lighter when I finally stand up from this computer.
I have developed an insanely inappropriate relationship with a “trio of trespassers.” (Grand prize of 1 million besos if you can name that movie.)
It started so innocently. It was late one evening in early January, in the first of the many snowy nights. A blinding, blizzarding, snowy night. The little female was out front, covered with a thick layer of snow, scratching at the snow beneath her feet, valiantly looking for birdseed that had fallen out of the feeders above. I watched her for the better part of an hour as she got whiter and whiter, intent only on finding random bits of birdseed, seemingly oblivious to the wind and snow. I couldn’t help but be impressed by her persistence, but felt angst at her possibly hungered state. She came again the next night, determined as ever to find the last remnants left by the birds. I dithered and dickered with myself and finally, on the third night, snuck out and left a small portion of dry dog kibble under one of the trees.
Need I remind you of one of my professions? I know one is not supposed to feed the wildlife. I get that. I also know that we had a rather large fire on the mountain this summer. The wildlife that didn’t perish left the country. Since January we’ve had a total of approximately 5 feet or more of snow, here at the house. There are slim pickings out there and my tendency to try to take care of the world beat out the conscience sitting on my shoulder (who at this point was screaming at me) pointing out all of the bad things that could occur as a result of this inappropriate relationship. These are all excuses, mind you. Justifications. Rationalizations. The first steps to becoming fully entrenched in the inappropriate relationship.
The little female took to hanging out up on the hill, right outside our bedroom window, where she had a straight shot down to the front yard.
Then, she brought who we assume to be her two brothers, littermates we think. That first night when all three were out front was hilarious to watch…foxes jumping and chasing each other and running each other away from the birdseed. Too dark for pictures and the action was too mesmerizing to leave.
Since then, I wrestle with my conscience each night. Should I leave food out there? Shouldn’t I leave food out there? What are the downsides to this inappropriate relationship? Who will be hurt by it? What kind of consequences will my selfish actions have? Selfish because I’m thinking of assuaging my guilt and angst at this trio of trespassers maybe not having enough to eat this winter. Selfish because I am enjoying the antics each night. Selfish because I feel as if I’m helping out the world a little bit, but in reality, my inappropriate relationship may just be harming another inhabitant of this planet Earth. Which is truly not my intent. I seek to do no harm. I took an oath, many years ago now, and stated those words…”do no harm.”
Am I harming this family of foxes? I know not the consequences of my actions. I know only that it feels inappropriate and I must find it in me to step away from this inappropriate relationship. As I would hope the leaders of our country who are now embroiled in their own inappropriate relationships might first find and then listen to a conscience, telling them to “do no harm.”
Curled up tight for the night.
Good night. And good luck.