The corporation in which I work for has a very strict, “Zero tolorance” policy towards any shenanigans… especially ones of the sexual or drug paraphernalia variety. I’ll start the story, there.
I come in this morning, midly-caffeinated on hatred for all men I reside with, (including the dog who can’t keep my stilettos out of his teeth,) and shitty, gas station coffee. There, like a bright, shining, beacon on our table, (it’s the product of a move gone horribly wrong and the fact that someone always brings in cookies so we needed a place to keep them…) is a bag of very, interesting, looking herbs.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this type of thing- last week it was oregano, this week it’s some small-leafed bag of stuff that I wouldn’t want to throw over my chicken if you paid me- but someone always ganks whatever’s on the table and takes it home to their lair.
wWell… the thing is when you’re part of such a shiny and happy organization, it’s very hard to relate to the outside world anymore. You have to ask yourself… “Holy Shit. I swear to god.. folded over? That looks like weed. Did someone bring WEED into work? Because they should be the next CEO.” You don’t know if anything -really- is funny anymore. You feel the need to ask other people. “Umm… Chuck? Does that look like a special sort of grass to you?” (Roaring Laugher.)
Then you look around. (Shit. Did anyone hear that? Am I going to get written up?) But before you do anything else you notice the toddler twins- (the two, 50 year old men in your department who still throw rubber dinosaurs over the cube at each other and you secretly wish to be in their club of non-conformity.) There they are… rolling up a ‘joint’ with the ‘herbs’ in printer paper.
I swear to god. I just about peed my pants.
So- the party ensues, the twins strategically place the ‘item’ on the Mistresses of Evil’s desk, and I wait, because really.. either someone’s getting fired- it might break her hard, exterior shell of wrath against anything not ‘shiny’ or ‘happy’ and puppies, in general.
And I’m telling you this story because on the way to work today, in a comatose state thinking about how he said, “But we are great additions to each other,” when I thought I was going to scream, “MOLLY, MOLLY, MOLLY, MOLLY!” (Sorry, Molly.) At the top of my lungs while clubbing him senseless- with Cow Tracks Ice Cream. (And for all of you that get that reference? I hope you’re laughing with me.) Because this too… seems funny.
And funny- and this… probably equals the anger stage. I think it would help if I didn’t enjoy it so much, right? My coworker came over this morning, looked at me and said, “you look really, really pissed off.” I replied, “Thank you.”
I think it’s important to -feel- everything. It means something that this much pain is infesting itself in my psyche. It means something I don’t own a bat. It means something that this morning I didn’t even notice the things I usually do. I don’t look at him if he’s dressing or undressing anymore, partially because it’s someone else’s now, and partially because the things I used to like- the curves near his pelvis, or the rise of his back- are something that really isn’t all that special anymore. We house the important things of who we truly are- deeper. I’m perhaps.. not attracted to him, anymore. And that thought- that I’m not trying to steal glances and thinking, “awww. maybe this is the last time I’ll see that,” or any bullshit that us girls do to ourselves- means something. See? A baby step- because when I look at him? I see mediocrity, at it’s lowest. A waste of a perfectly good frame and face- something to lure the girls in before he shits on their heart. (I’m poetic today.)
Josh: Don’t tell me we’re ‘so good’ together, and ‘we have so much to offer each other,’ (like- the same values! And the way we want to raise our kids! And our goals!) Did you notice that all those things are something that you can very easily find by going through a dating service and typing, “I want to raise my child in a stable, happy, home. I want to retire and live up north. I want to share my belief system with someone.” Input, output. You can get that, anywhere.
What I had to offer you? Was way better because I didn’t put strings on it. I’m the Ivy compared to your McDonalds. You’re cheap, easy and come out of the microwave. You don’t reheat well, and you leave a hell of a stomach-ache.
(I hope she likes fast food.)
