Mentor rang me at nine-somethin in the mornin. I answered, “You are aware it is morning, yes?”
“I am. But I am calling to tell you you don’t need to come in today.”
“Really! Enjoy your day off!” She cackled as she hung up the phone.
A day off.
I had like, ten years off, so you’d think I’d know what to do, but for about five minutes, I just sat on my sofa and smiled at my trees. And then I sneezed one of those sneezes that rattles the windows and snot flies — somewhere…
I’ve had a cold, well, I have a cold, but like, the worst of it is over. I thought (for about fifteen seconds) about painting the back hallway before I remembered that in my current condition, hangin clean clothes in my closet causes my arms to shake with fatigue.
So I read. I drank coffee and read things and contemplated stuff. It was pretty fuckin wow.
I should have been workin on my 13 Stories piece, but nah, I had the day off. Spent it with my brain.
And after the long mulling, I realized two important things.
One, going to work is a GOOD thing. I realize that I have been working in my home forevah, but more manual labor than applying my brain to things that don’t concern me. It is GOOD for my brain to deal with someone else’s business. There is no room for neurotic brain at work. Okay, there’s room for OCD, maybe it’s even a playground for OCD, but there’s no room for anxiety there.
Two, I don’t know how much longer I can chew on my political outrage. I turned to The Mister last night and said, “You haven’t written anything in a long, long time.”
“Bout time for a good political rant, ain’t it?” I asked sweetly.
His eyes widened, “YOU HAVE NO IDEA!”
“I can feel it! I don’t know how much longer I can keep it in!”
Sassy started laughin.
I tried to show her how the words try to escape, and how I have to shove em back in.
Y’all know how it is, you like people, but they say the damnedest things, and you start to twitch, and then you hear your mother, “If you can’t say anything nice…” and you’re like, “BUT MAMAN!”
And that’s when it’s good to be Daddy’s Little Girl
and Mommy’s Little Basketcase because Fuck Those Mother Fuckers, it’s not like they give a fuck about sparing MY FUCKING FEELINGS!
Of course, “the best way to protect yourself from other people’s bad manners is by a conspicuous display of your own good ones” or someshit. That’s how I’ll be remembered you know, as ever-polite and oh-so considerate of other people’s feelings.
I just don’t know how much longer I can go without flailing and word-spasming in all my liberal glory. I really don’t. My chest might burst. It’s probably how I got this fucking cold. Last time I had a cold, President Bush had just taken office.
What say you, virus or repression?