out of the recent past

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Since being let go by a certain branch of what I call "Lord Lightfoot," my thoughts have kept returning, as a tongue will keep exploring a sore in the mouth, to that very place. Just today, I was reflecting on how certain radio shows are tainted in my hindbrain, by their association with the drive to and from the place, and I wondered idly whether my replacement there was still on the job or whether she, too, had failed what my good wife calls "the mind-reading test." I'm not psychic, mind you. I'd pondered aspects of that diseased job many times since my termination there.

You can imagine, then, how quickly I was buoyed by her words this evening. She knows just what to say. Sitting before the screen, she remarked, "M***'s looking again." Oh, I knew right away what she was talking about, and about two seconds later, I was looking over her shoulder at the advertisement for the same position I'd been deemed unworthy of back in June, right after I had held down the department for a week during its other employee's vacation.

"I wonder who quit whom," I mused. "Did she last the whole five months, or is this the second time they've had to fill it? Are they asking why they can't find anybody as good as the one who lasted over a year in the spot before quitting for another place?"

Neither of us knows the answers, but it was fun to think about the questions.
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