March 29th, 2014

Scorpio

Not sent to anyone in particular except, perhaps, me

It's possible that an elephant in the room exists only because you built it.

This metaphor may fall apart right in front of us, but bear with me ("Indulge me," as Dr. Eldon Tyrell told Rick Deckard):

You brought in the pieces. You stacked them, fitting this here and that there, continually talking and going on about other stuff as if you weren't assembling something large, leathery and, um, on-the-nose. As if you weren't building the vague equivalent of a ship in a bottle from inside the bottle. Maybe you somehow misdirected everyone, maybe you didn't, but, still, throughout all this

no

one

is

talking

about

it.

At some point, the job requires ladders. You reach for things. Maybe you shove, sweat and grunt because your leverage isn't great. Maybe a few pieces here and there don't quite fit, but who's going to look up there? People are even less likely to talk about the top of an elephant. There. That bit sort of works. Get on with other bits. Which will also sort of work. Sort of. Maybe.

And, still, no one's talking.

There. It's finished. And standing there. You've gotten around it all this time just fine so far, and at least it's not getting larger, so that's -- huh -- one less worry, actually. All that's left is the careful, careful stepping.

Just remember: you shouldn't exactly be proud of what you've accomplished here.

So: did you make the elephant in the room? Or did you invite it in, like you would a vampire? Doesn't really matter. It's the same result.

The elephant in the room. Don't encourage it.

This entry is partly inspired by my ability to make about me things that are decidedly Not About Me.
  • Current Music
    Bernard Herrmann's score to "The Ghost and Mrs. Muir"
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