Letters I Meant To Send

Oh jesus. Loathsome is in the office today and we've already been unable to prevent him from coming upstairs. Right off the bat.

I was on my way to Owner's office when I saw him standing in the Information Superhighway's office, forcing Money Man to look for something. (Information Superhighway is out for a couple of weeks.) I took some pleasure in noting Loathsome was already infuriating Money Man. I could see him clenching his teeth, presumably in an effort to keep his head from exploding.

I weighed the odds of being able to make it to Owner's office and back without Loathsome noticing. They weren't good, as always, it was too late to retreat. Sure enough, Loathsome turned around before I could escape into Owner's inner sanctum. I flashed him a smile and said, "Loathsome! How's life?" I gave him the thumbs-up sign as I kept walking. That should have made it abundantly clear that I don't give a rat's ass how he is, but we're talking about Loathsome here.

After I was back in my office for a couple of minutes, I thought I heard a faint voice coming from Crazy Employee's office saying, "Ggirl. Ggirl." For a second I thought I had lost my mind. I'm relentlessly optimistic. Of course it was Loathsome. Who else would believe it better to mumble my name from the other side of a closed door than to actually knock?

I girded my mental loins and told him to come in.

He asked, "Are you in the loop for paper receipts?"

Now he knows damn well I'm not in that "loop." I'm so far out of it that I had to pause for a minute to figure out what the hell he was talking about. At least he's consistent. I'm immediately baffled every time he opens his mouth. That's just part of his charm.

"No. That would be Crazy Employee. She's not here today," I told him.

He stood in my doorway and explained to me in excruciating detail why he needed some specific receipts immediately.

"She's not here today." Just in case I hadn't made it clear the first time and he hadn't noticed Crazy wasn't wandering around the office, whining. If she's here, that's what she's doing. Well, unless she's futilely attempting to create problems between Owner and me. Either way, Loathsome should have noted we're missing that special something Crazy Employee brings to the office.

Loathsome explained his customer really wanted those receipts and they'd been requesting them for a couple of days. Tough shit, Bud, I guess you should have gotten them a couple of days ago. Besides, I believe we addressed that, possibly more than once.

"Well, can't help you. Crazy will be back tomorrow, though." Maybe if I just wrote it down with a Sharpie on a piece of paper, climbed up on my desk and held it up over my head like that famous scene in "Norma Rae," I could get him the hell out of my doorway.

Three times is never enough with Loathsome. Yes, we went through it again. He seemed to finally comprehend, but didn't budge an inch. I know I always have to stroke his ego one way or another. Call me stubborn. I just don't wish to do it. Ever. So I hold out and, eventually, give in because I know he'll still be standing there at 5:00 o'clock if I don't just get it over with. Oh fuck.

"How's the back? And the wrists? And the ankles?" I hoped to get him to sum everything up for me so I wouldn't be nodding and smiling for the next 45 minutes. Dream on. He told me. It's all bad. Loathsome is a trooper, though, and hangs tough for our collective benefit.

"Yeah. I'm in pain every day, too. You know, I've had so many surgeries." I just said that because I know it irritates him to think about anyone other than Loathsome. I have to get something out of this, you know. That seemed to register briefly on his slack-jawed face.

"I really need those receipts." Back to me, bitch.

It was about as gracious an exit line as you're ever going to get from Loathsome. He had accomplished his objectives--bother the hell out of me, impress upon me the importance of his job, astound me with his capacity for endurance and, finally, to feign interest in someone else.

"I guess you're just going to have to call Crazy Employee on her cellphone."

I'd also accomplished my objective. I smiled at him as I got up  and closed my door.

It's going to be a long 12 weeks.

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You're Love in the Time of Cholera!

by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Like Odysseus in a work of Homer, you demonstrate undying loyalty by
sleeping with as many people as you possibly can. But in your heart you never give
consent! This creates a strange quandary of what love really means to you. On the
one hand, you've loved the same person your whole life, but on the other, your actions
barely speak to this fact. Whatever you do, stick to bottled water. The other stuff
could get you killed.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

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Friends from tblog seem to be migrating here.  God knows I have a zillion weblogs, all of which are exactly the same except for the daily titles.  (Different audiences)  So here's a new one. 

I'll figure this out sooner or later. 

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Today I planned to get around to checking in with all of my online blogging friends. I always miss sharing in their daily lives when I have to be gone--usually because of a trip to deal with cancer in one way or another. I may not get around to that, after all.

I'm crying now. In my office. At the mercy of anyone in Crazy Land who happens to knock on my door. I do not wish for them to see me cry. It's too personal to explain and there is no consolation to be found. Certainly not here, anyway. Actually, I'd love to explain it to myself, but crying is only crying. No explanation necessary.

It feels so silly to be afraid. Is there something wrong in the new girl? Probably not. My mom thinks everything is okay. I should just banish the fear and rest in the thought that most likely all is well. Right? I'm almost certain everything is fine. Why would I choose to believe otherwise?

On the other hand, having once been overly optimistic, it's well nigh impossible to exorcise that anxiety gnawing around the edges of my consciousness. Two summers ago, I thought we were just going to have a look around, maybe remove a benign tumor and get on with things. Then I believed Dr. Ross would perform a little lumpectomy or a big lumpectomy and I'd go on my merry way. Obviously, that didn't happen.

Money Man's daughter poked her head in my office a while ago and, though I tried to pull myself together, I'm a messy crier. My eyes get puffy immediately and my nose turns red. Very, very attractive, I assure you. That's when I decided to take a little trip next door and get over myself. At least there I could cry noisily if it came to that. It did. But I'm back now.

A few seconds ago, Crazy Employee, who engaged in some egregious back-stabbing behavior last week, knocked on my door and made some ridiculous excuse for entering my office. If I wanted chocolate donuts, bitch, I would go to the receptionist's desk to get them. I do not wish to share anything with her. I'm insulted that she would think otherwise.

In what's come to be the Official GGirl Crying Building, there is an abandoned plant. I've been trying to get someone to take care of it for a long time and now it's dying. That touched off another round of crying and, as I sit here, tears are welling up again. Goddamn it. I'm going to try to find a way to get some water to the poor thing and, in the meantime, I slanted the blinds so it could get more light. I just need to find a big enough container to take some water to it; it's a very large plant and needs more than a cupful or so.

Back to the matter at hand, be afraid or not? Maybe I don't have any choice and I should just go with whatever the moment brings. Oh yeah. That was supposed to be one of those lessons I learned from having breast cancer. Being in the moment is being completely alive.

I tell everyone that I wish to live until I die. When I'm sitting on the floor next door, crying about a dying plant, that is exactly living until I die. Yesterday I was reminded of a quote from a Medieval mystic named Julian of Norwich. "All things shall be well. And all manner of things shall be well." They shall.

In the meantime, I may be vying for the office nickname, "Crazy Employee." I'll have to think of a new name for her, though. The possibilities are endless. I'm officially taking suggestions, but I have dibs on "Back-stabbing Bitch." I'll get back to debating fear later. I've got my priorities straight, you know, because all things most certainly shall be well.

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