On top of all that, I received an e-mail this morning from the English Department. I have to write a document for my annual evaluation, and it's due by 5 p.m. on Monday. I'm going to have to get that done this evening. It's my only free time in the next few days. Surprise work. I have a feeling that, by Sunday afternoon, I'm going to be one tired little saint.
When Charlotte gets to the Fair Grounds with Wilbur, she's tired. The end is very near for her, and she knows it. Wilbur has no idea his friend is nearing the final days of her life:
"I'm awfully sorry to hear that you're feeling poorly, Charlotte," he said. "Perhaps if you spin a web and catch a couple of flies you'll feel better."
"Perhaps," she said, wearily. "But I feel like the end of a long day." Clinging upside down to the ceiling, she settled down for a nap, leaving Wilbur very much worried.
Charlotte goes with Wilbur to the Fair because she knows her work is not finished. Even when she feels like the end of a long day, she still has to save her friend's life. At the end of my life, I know I'm going to be exactly like Charlotte. There's still going to be some task I need to complete. One last thing to do. Work never goes away. It just goes undone.
Once upon a time, there lived an old farmhand named Lotta. Lotta rose every day before the sun, labored all day in the barn and fields, and fell into bed long after the sun was on the other side of the world. Lotta never took vacations, and the milk from her cows was known to be the best in the kingdom.
One day, Lotta died, and nobody was there to take over her chores. The cows went unmilked. The corn rotted on the stalks. And the pigs died of starvation.
Moral of the story: Farms are a whole Lotta work.
And Saint Marty lived happily ever after.
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| Who does give a damn? |
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