joe.

I absolutely love chaos, which is nothing more, really, than the potential for disaster.  Opportunities for disaster fascinate me and draw me in.  I can’t resist sticking my fingers into fan blades.  I used to play with matches before I was a firefighter.  As a kid I would never be able to keep my balance when walking on the shiney polished rails of the train tracks in the woods, but I would always try—especially if it was raining. 

I suppose I am lucky; I was never knocked unconscious falling from those rails.  I was never run over by a train while lying helpless in its path.  I never burned the house down, and I never lost a finger, though I did get a nasty cut from a fan blade once. 

I don’t want to die, but I do want something to kill me, something that is not in my control.  I want to be in the path of disaster, then I can stop feeling guilty about everything. 

The guilt comes from… well, I guess I am going to try and figure that out right now.  I’m not sure I know.  One thing I have always known is that, without help, I am completely oblivious to the things of which I actually am guilty; neglecting friendships, shirking social obligations (like failing to acknowledge birthdays, not sending thank you notes for kindnesses extended to me, and seldom buying Christmas presents), and never cleaning the house.  Just your basic, run of the mill irresponsibility.  I have stopped being stunned by my inability to maintain even casual relationships.  Oh well. 

However, I am hyperconscious of things for which I am not guilty.  Years ago, someone cut the cable-TV cable coming into my building.  I noticed it and told the landlord.  I was surprized nobody else mentioned it before me.  Does no one in my building watch TV?  I don’t even have a TV, and there I was telling the landlord somebody cut the cable.  Maybe it was my imagination, but he appeared to suspect that the vandal was me, even though he thanked me for bringing it to his attention.  We all know how paranoid I can be.  The point is that if there is a remote suspicion that I might be guilty, then for me there is no distinction between being guilty and being innocent.  If you suspect me, then I behave as if you are right.  I despaired long ago of ever standing up for or defending myself.  I gave up all hope for justice when I was a little, little boy.  Besides, if everyone believes I am guilty when I am not, then I can enjoy the balm of a potent self-pity.  I am addicted to self-pity, as you know if you have read any of my writing here for the last four years. 

There is four hundred and ten dollars missing from the safe at work; my department has custody of the safe.  Of course I am feeling that the irresponsibles who run my workplace are blaming me in the backs of their minds, or in confidential whispers between them.  Paranoid, see?  The management is irresponsible because despite repeated losses from the safe, they have maintained a flawed system for monitoring its contents, which is always at least $1000.00, and often much more.  A hundred bucks was lost three months ago. 

In the $410.00 case, it appears that the page in the inventory book (which tells us what is supposed to be in the safe) was removed along with the envelope containing the $410.00.  As a result, the individual responsible for checking the safe’s contents has no way of knowing that anything is missing.  The individual responsible for checking the safe yesterday during the 3-11 shift was me.  The displacement—let’s not say theft, yet—was discovered today when the patient to whom the money belonged was being discharged.  The best I can say is that the contents of the safe matched the inventory record when I checked it yesterday; either both the money and the inventory page were in the safe together, or neither was. 

The hospital’s policy is that two people check the safe’s contents against its inventory record at every shift change.  This seldom happens, partly because the place is chaos and no two people can be spared simultaneously to go off and do the inventory, and partly because most shift changes do not overlap.  When one arrives, whoever is being replaced promptly leaves.  Now, I suppose I could refuse to accept custody of the safe under those conditions.  But my employer counts ‘friendliness,’ and ‘cooperation’ much more highly than competence.  Such a refusal is not an issue I wish to press because my employer has no difficulty promoting an unworkable policy, and they’d probably fire me for insubordination—I am of the opinion that they just generally don’t like me.  Paranoid, see? 

Regardless, the conditions under which the $410.00 was lost could not have been prevented even if five people were checking the contents simultaneously.  There was no evidence in the inventory record that it was supposed to be there, so nobody would have any reason to suspect it was missing! 

Do you think I am obsessing on this?  If not then allow me to correct you; I am. 

Do you wonder why I continue to work there?  Let me refer you to the very first line of this entry; in fact, let me reprint it here:  I absolutely love chaos, which is nothing more, really, than the potential for disaster.  The potential for disaster is extreme in the office where I work.  Perhaps that is my delusion, but as I see that we are out of time for todays session, I will have to take up that issue next time I show up for therapy. 

I am out sick today, normally I’d be at work right now.  Instead, I will go and try again to expell some of these abdominal cramps, then I’ll take a hot shower to counter the chills, though that will probably trigger the sweats… 

Who knows, maybe I’ll die.    : )