the puzzle life

Imagine you are going to work on a puzzle.
Imagine you do not have the puzzle picture.
Imagine that is your life.

You dump out a bunch of pieces that seem very random. Fitting the edges together is the easiest part--they all have one side that is straight. Except, of course, for those puzzles that try to trick you with inner pieces that also have smooth edges. When you have that kind of puzzle you think a piece is an edge but later it emerges it was just part of a tree, a growing area. Maybe you outline your life, the borders where your days are contained--a career, a country, a people. Within those borders there are still some confusing pieces but at least you can see an outline even if you can't see the big picture.

Sometimes you can even fit pieces together inside without looking at the picture, just as in life some things seem to make sense even when you don't know where all this is going. You get the job you like, you have a good friend, maybe you get married. Those pieces fit, you think you see the big picture and you call it "life" and it seems to be working. You keep pulling pieces in and connecting them to the areas you have built and a picture starts taking shape. The picture of you.

Then suddenly you grab a piece and try as you might you cannot make it fit. There's a little bit of blue but the blue you thought it would match when you first saw it is different as it comes closer to your puzzle. Why did you lose that job you loved? Why did that dear friend say those hurtful things? Why did that guy dump you? Why did your child die? Just as trying to force a piece into the wrong spot, things that don't fit your picture of life jarring ruin the jigsaw you are assembling.

A pile of random puzzle pieces illustrates nothing. Until you put them all together. Until the end of the puzzle you cannot see the whole picture--at least, not unless you had the picture in the first place (which, of course, is the usual way to assemble puzzles). Life makes sense in reverse. Life makes sense when you see the big picture.

Imagine you are here for a purpose.
Imagine you can know the big picture.
Imagine this is your life


A dead thing can go with the stream, but only a living thing can go against it. 
~ GK Chesterton

From the Front Lines

“Sir!”

“Yes, Buz? You have a report from the brick zone?”

“Sir, yes sir! Zone is clean. Target saturation is ten percent. Remaining target group comprised of low value assets. Sir!”

“Distressing! Did you see the mobile dispensaries?”

“Sir, no sir! Mobile dispensaries absent, sir. Area swept clean.”

“Any word from the feast?”

“Sir, yes sir! Reconnoitred with Sargent Zip. Feast zone shuttered, zero output. Sir.”

“Inconceivable! What are these targets doing? It’s been over forty orbits!”

“Sir, yes sir! Also, something else. Sir.”

 “Well Buz? Out with it.”

“Sir, yes sir. It’s some of the troops, sir. They are growing restless, sir.”

“Well? Permission to speak freely Buz.”

“Sir, yes sir. Well, there’s talk of…”

“Yes?”

“…of foraging. Sir.”

“FORAGING?”

“Sir, yes sir! Foraging. Primal target hunting. Robin formations.”

“Despicable. We have not come this far to revert to such extreme measures. Buz, must I remind you how our winged ancestors fought their way up to symbiotic co-existence with the profitable urban targets? How they became masters of the brick zone, feasting on the carelessness of opulent targets? We cannot retreat!”

“But sir we must survive!”

“I don’t appreciate your tone Sergeant Buz. If we retreat to the green zone the hairy monsters will take back the targets’ riches and we will have lost our advantage.”

“Sir, yes sir. But what are we to do.”

“I have a plan. See that deceptive screen gateway there?”

“Sir, yes sir!” 

“I have been observing the two targets inside while waiting for you. I have taken care to let my wing hang and not move once. One sympathetic target keeps checking on me. This is what we will do. You will approach the screen gateway and tap on the danger partition. The target will assume that you have an injured ally (me) and are asking for succour. The gullible target will open the screen gateway to provide sustenance and we will be victorious once more!”

“Sir, yes sir!” 

“Onward, Buz! To your post!”

Bloody Adventures ;)

“Well she lied.” His words hung in the tense air like knives. The day had started out with such promise, who could have known one person’s irritability could destroy an otherwise uplifting outing? Blood drives during a pandemic have pitfalls and procedures change on a semi-regular basis. Masks are the nom de jeu currently and most people respond with sheeplike compliance, obediently accepting the uncomfortable dust mask provided they didn’t bring their own. This busy blood drive boasted two plasma stations and three regular beds, with forty-five donors scheduled--the most I’d ever seen. 

From the start things did not bode well. The volunteer coordinator had called me in at the last minute—someone had cancelled. My assistant was a high schooler marking her first drive. The drive organiser did not appear until partway through and followed a hands-off approach, usually just fine by me but as the phlebotomist lead also seemed to prefer a laissez-faire style trouble immediately began brewing in the form of an assertive male tech (Grumpy) who for reasons unknown adopted a style early on of offending donors. 

When donors arrive they march right on in—-they have an appointment after all. Due to whatever reason set-up was woefully slow and when the first donor entered they were not ready for her. I tried to reach her but Grumpy got there first and harshly told her to get out as they weren’t ready. I followed up apologising but the tone had been set and continued as he gnashed his teeth at a long waiting group later and then finally culminated in the mask confrontation.

Two donors entered for an end-of-the-day appointment without masks. As I cheerfully handed them each the paper ones the younger donor slightly balked, worried that the mask would cause claustrophobia and even a panic attack. Concerned, I suggested that as the masks were for close-contact protection, as long as she was simply waiting in a socially-distanced manner she could take it off until it was necessary. 

Minutes later Grumpy saw her and the tense confrontation in which he informed her that I was a liar ensued. Needless to say she was quite upset with him. I ushered her outside to wait instead and gave my sincerest regrets at the unfortunate situation. It turns out Grumpy pissed off the wrong person: this donor used to work for the organisation and she had his boss on speed dial. If Grumpy was having a bad day it was going to get much worse later when the powers that be addressed his actions. Turns out blood can be quite exciting.