Strange Notations From a Laborious Life

 My supervisor at work is also a very close friend. He tries hard, works intensively. He takes pride in what he does and always does his best. The company is in his heart and although he is a little overzealous in his attitude at times, always believing he hasn’t enough staff when the opposite is true, he is a man most corporation’s would feel is an asset to have on the books.

 He has his flaws, some ingrained and serious but he is also sensitive, takes the blows on his chin like a champion prize-fighter and always apologizes when he realises he is in the wrong. A man like few others.

 He is amiable and friendly although a slim line of arrogance runs through his demeanour and raises it’s head at inopportune times, it is quickly pushed back in it’s box before permanent damage is done.

 Some of the ladies say he is attractive. He has his own house. He does well financially. He has a lady friend but she holds him at a distance, a fact which must hurt but of which he never talks. He has held her on a pedestal for twenty years and no other shall pass while she is his champion. Unrequited love on a grand scale.

 As amiable as he is he seems to have knack of annoying those who don’t know him well enough to make an authentic judgement of his character. Those on other shifts with an axe to grind who can’t see past their own noses because of greed or jealousy. Those who have no right to judge.

 He is a flailing man. Sad. Depression and frustration consuming him. Enemies from above whittling away at his reputation unjustifiably. People who have no chance of matching him in character reduced to destroying him in words, utterances which managers who should know better take as gospel.

 He longs to run but has nowhere to go. Not unlike the rest of us but we have our shelters, our fortress’ to where we can retreat, home in the bosom of our loved one’s who refresh our minds and souls, fortifying us for the future battles we must fight on the plain of life. The battle which is joined every working day.

 He retreats to his fortress of solitude but it is a bare and stultifying prison. Watching movies he has recorded through the day late into the night, loneliness consuming him but no bitterness seems to climb from this well. It is bottled up, rotting away in the pit of his soul where no one can see. A colossus on suspect legs and I fear the day when the facade will come crashing down as surely it must.

 He is his own worst enemy. I long to help him but a man can only go so far in such endeavours. I long to turn on his attackers and defamers and put them in their place but it is not my responsibility or right to do so. He must come part way and meet those who seek to help him but the affliction which condemns him keeps him in his corner, quiet as a mouse. Depression causes him to die a thousand deaths each day, like a casualty caught in no man’s land suffering a slow and agonising fate.

 He can’t break away although he has had his chance. Fear and love keeping him at his post. Detractors lining up each day for a fresh shot across his bow. Managers undermining him unfairly.

 What may become of him? I don’t know but I can only offer my hand in friendship and leave the rest to him. I hope one day he will come to his senses, escape the rot and live the life he deserves to live. Find that happiness which is the right of all of us to enjoy. And leave behind the tragedy of the flailing man.

 Have a nice day.