Patsy Cline for breakfast.
Well, everyone, I’m still here. Although, I don’t know how to define the term here in this context. I look like the ghost of myself from tomorrow- black-eyed, chap-lipped, and distracted.
My boss at work is gone for a week. That relieves a little bit of anxiety from having to cooperate with the following dialogue:
HIM: (In a booming voice) “How was your weekend?? Pretty good day so far, young lady??”
ME: (Plastering on fake smile) Oh yes!! Best morning ever!! It was great! Let’s see… I … (laid in bed and contemplated ending my life) had a very relaxing weekend! Just what I needed.
HIM: “Yeah I did, too. I took care of the garden, made breakfast yesterday….”
I love him, dearly. I just don’t have the strength nor desire to really speak to anyone at work. I’m going to throw my headphones on, drown myself in white noise, and try really hard not to listen to ever-growing sounds of clicking, voices, and the water faucet that someone forgot to turn off.
It’s like water boarding for my brain.
I want to tell you something good that happened… Did I ever tell you about our pet snail? He’s divine. His name is Marshall. He’s a tiny garden snail with a big appetite for lettuce and cucumber. Whenever I feel really low, I’ll take him out of his carrying case and hold him. His eyeballs make me laugh out loud.