A Series of Random Events

A friend and colleague, whom I will just call G- (not that many of you who read this don't already know who G- is), seems to be the recipient of a series of random events of which could give someone of lesser esteem a complex. Between August 1st and December 6th of this year, G- has met with the police four times. I suggested that G- write a short book (though at the rate things are going, it could be pretty good sized) on the adventures and mis-adventures of G-'s first year in Farmington. Of course, it's so tempting to write about it . . .

G-'s story though gives a bit of a complex to those who work at the same place G- and I do. The story goes back before G- moved to Farmington. It goes back before I moved to Farmington.

Our place of work has had some pretty rough years. Though some people would like to place the blame on the current administration, the facts show the "company" has had trouble for several years before any of the current staff and administration were here.

Last year, the sickness and dirt grew into a pussy, infected boil. The pain generated from that boil was tremendous. When it finally burst, it was with relief, but a lot of heart ache. Very few were not exposed to the pussy lies and abuse that erupted from the infection.

Now, I'm not saying that it was all bad. In fact, it was a pretty good year. The Board is supportive (though it took them awhile to be completely so, which would be explained at a later point if I was to write this story fully) and the Superintendent is better then any I have worked under. The "clients" I work with are fun, loving, and just a hoot some days. And once the boil was exposed and lanced, it was (and still is in many ways) healing and recovering. Dirt did keep trying to get back into the wound and it's still a rather tender scar.

And thus, if I was going to write a story . . . but alas, I should not . . . or?