Poignant Blurs

Creativity Works

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Location: Florida, United States

"Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, in the hopeless swamps of the approximate, the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved, but have never been able to reach. Check your road and the nature of your battle. The world you desired can be won. It exists, it is real, it is possible, it is yours." - Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged

Thursday, February 17, 2005


There was no excuses this time. She was tired and out of excuses. It seemed everyone had one, and she didn't have the energy to even attempt it, and so she ended up with the blame.

Meagan had never been very good in these situations. She was a bundle of energy at work and play that was practically unstoppable, but come the finger pointing and the game playing politics of work and friendship, she practically shut down.

She gossipped sure, and was always eager for the latest news, but there was no malice in her for it, and she considered it light hearted fun. She knew of people who's sole purpose was to demoralize and cast blame or doubt on others, but she didn't associate with these people, or at least she tried to avoid them.

The fact of the matter was she couldn't compete with them, couldn't even comprehend it, and so she was more often the victim of their plots than an active participant. She was sometimes naively caught up in something simply because she couldn't understand that there could be any harm in it.

She was starting to learn better.

This case was no different, she had been one minute laughing and chatting while happily buzzing around at work. She wasn't slacking off, she was capable of a million things at once. Now she was fired with no clear understanding. She knew that there was something about the whole situation that she had missed. It was just beyond her fatigue, which hung like a cloud and had decended the moment the unpleasantness had begun.

Meagan just hadn't the heart for unpleasantness.

It was her 21st year, and she was mostly happy, but it was becoming apparent that she was ill prepared for "the real world" as every one in high school had touted the post-high school world. Granted she had been out of high school for 4 years, but this was an unpleasant realization, and she had managed not to believe it thus far.

But this was her third time being fired, and she had failed out of her first year at college.
She was out of excuses.

At home that evening Meagan was morose. The color had washed from her face, leaving her ashen and listless. Her family was understandably concerned. They said nothing though, they knew that Meagan disliked unpleasantness, and would be even less likely to talk about it, than she was to express it, and they had never seen her express it before.

Generally she bounded about the house, talking eagerly to anyone that would listen about anything she could think of. She was resilient, she was bubbly, she was charming. She did not want to grow up. She thought that this is what it would be like, as she walked slumped shouldered through the house, eyes lowered. This is what it was like to be grown up. She went to her bedroom and flopped down on her back, an air of forlorn pride and resignation followed her down.

When she became bored of staring at the ceiling, she leaned up one elbow and eyed herself in the mirror over top of her dresser. She ruthlessly chided herself on the snarled brown hair, sticking up from where she had just flopped on it. She made herself look as miserable as possible, drawing down the lines of her mouth, drooping sloppily in a contorted pose that finally appeared the her as the ridiculous gross exaggeration that it was, and she burst happily into laughter. Relieved, she laid back on the bed clutching a stuffed lion to her chest.

"Maybe not yet", she whispered into the fur mane, pulling herself up on her side to wrap around the toy, and fall peacefully asleep for another night.


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