God, you old goat

WHEN I meet my Maker, which appointment I have scheduled in 2084, I intend to ask Him a few things. And He better answer.

Why, why, why, why did He stop with just 24 hours in a day? I mean, what’s it about 24 hours? Why not 36, or, better still, 48?

I will tell you why. It’s because of me.

God, you see, likes to see me sweat. He likes it when I run around like a headless chicken, trying to meet yesterday’s deadline. And if He can pile more work on me then, He is positively in heaven.

In heaven He was this past 20 days. Besides my regular commitments of waitering (more about it later), data entry, and, yeah, occasional research, He destined I take on another stimulating job: ‘housekeeping’, better known as toilet cleaning (couldn't say no; it’s the Gandhi in me, I suppose).

Then He threw me another bone, and another, and another, then another… exam invigilation (they knew not who they were trusting), sticking stickers (never mind where), armchair journalism (joined Ponytail’s club, yes), ‘markings’/evaluation (in place of a lecturer I had poisoned)…

Of course it didn’t fit into 24 hours: Up at 6:30 am; fix breakfast, gobble breakfast; fix lunch, pack lunch; fix dinner, pack dinner; leave kitchen spotless for landlordly inspection (later, later); jump into shower, jump out; leap into clothes, leap out of attic; huff to job (of the day), huff out; puff to second job (of the day), puff out; crawl to desk… start failing students.

By D-day Minus Three, I still had a mountain of markings left. Press releases, short stories, brochures, feature articles, all were coming out of my ears. Still I marked.

I marked first thing in the morning and I marked last thing at night. I marked in between. I marked at breakfast, at lunch, at dinner. I marked as I walked to work and I marked as I worked.

While He laughed his head off. He would have died with merriment, I am certain, if I had missed the deadline. But I didn't miss it -- I truly am an amazing person -- mainly because I didn’t want Him dead. Oh no. I want Him around for our appointment.

God, you old goat, you got some answering to do.