Hello eHealer. Next, year - lol, just kidding about. I'm usually a day late and a dollar short.
Last night Halloween I worked. No complaints. It is was the last day of the month. So, that means I do the End of Month stuff and get the new month stuff ready. Process all the pertinent reports, prepare them for the morning meeting(s) for the leadership, Review the now current month action plans, and set up all the reporting mechanisms. Things like holidays come into play setting up projections, pondering work flow and workload, and initiating 'new' reporting mechanisms seeking to measure change.
Now, about those horror movies. All those numbers go through my head. Even though I am only creating reports, I see everything - low performance, great performance, expenditures, cost over-runs, profit margins, low or high sales trends, and other stuff.
Then the ghosts start appearing, Since I work alone at night all those creaks and groans of distant fax machines, muffled cries of late night phone calls, falling tires in the warehouse crashing to the floor, caused by cats, black I don't know, yet hairs stand on end.
With numbers streaming around the who's and what's start appearing in the attic of where. Hemispheres, both right or left, corpuscallosum (sp), conscious, subconscious, and unconscious loom like familiar spirits - Christmas past, Christmas Future, and Christmas present saying - Boo!
Soon the room becomes crowded as ghostly entities mingle chitting and chatting about this or that. I leave the room to find sanctuary in the open sky. There above lurking just behind a cloud a large glass of milk spills its mystery upon the table of darkness dotted with the ideas of yesterday lighting tomorrow.
What? A skunk appears bringing pause while wondering if that be a spiritual guide sent to me. Then a raccoon jumps from behind the fence, locked tight, and how becomes a pondering thought. Is it a shape shifter, friendly or foe, or just a hunter seeking food. Am I that food?
Suddenly an Osprey is spied flying high above. Its wings do not strike the air. They only flutter barely seen. Gliding ominously, creeping across that darkened hue, appearing as a spirit more than a bird. The haunting aura dully reflects man's light from below.
Do I run? A canard? 'Truth' it is & 'truth' it was. Halloween night crept along slowly defying time. And, today, I sleep & dream. Those memories of a Hallow night clutch hard like chains.
Spooky . . .where is the remote?