He ruined my day. He ruined my day and my day hasn’t even really started yet. He ruined my night, my morning, my coffee the minute that I took the first sip and my grande nonfat sugar-free vanilla latte tasted bitter and the bile rose in my throat.
I opened the car door and dry heaved. Oh god.
He ruined my drive, my lane change, and there hasn’t been a goddamned decent thing on the radio the entire way to my office.
Breathe. Just breathe.
I’m startled by the ring of my cell phone. Who? Who’s calling me? Dammit!
I parked? When did I park? Jesus. I’m tired, I want to sleep. He woke me up and ruined my night.
What makes it even worse is he called back.
I’ve replayed it in my head. Like the spelling bee and I was nine and I missed the word in the final round and I wanted to go back and do it again because Mom is sitting in the front row shaking her head. I have to sit down, I can’t play anymore. Molly Wilson and Gerald Pike are the final two and one of them should have been me but since Amy Fields missed edulcoration she had to sit down and so I have to spell kiononia and I don’t know how and now I have to sit down and mom is disappointed in me.
I have to go to work. It’s fifty or sixty yards to the building, then grab the handle, swing the door open and I’m inside. Fifteen steps to my office, I can close the door. If they see the light under my door they’ll know I’m here and they won’t bother me and say “good morning” because it isn’t a good morning and I’m not happy to be here and I just want to sleep because he woke me up.
Door, open the door. Compromise: it’s fifty-five yards. Get your purse and Dayrunner. Why the hell do I carry a Dayrunner? Antiquated fucking company and their software. Jesus, just get your shit together and go to work.
Now I’m late.
Two presses on the keychain, horn sounds and I’m walking to the front door of my office. If I walk fast enough I know that no one can see me and then I just have to grab the handle and get inside.
Handle. Door. Fucking DOOR! Stuck.
Pull, dammit, pull. Open! Please open.
I’m inside now. Fifteen steps, key…key with the sky blue top goes in my office door. I don’t want to see the sky. I open my office door, shut my office door. I’m tired.
Where is my purse?
It’s in the car. Fuck. I don’t care. The phone is in it and I don’t want to see it because he woke me up at 1:51am.
It’s going to be a horrible day because all I want to do is go to sleep and dream what I was dreaming before the phone rang at 1:51am.
How does he know my name?
Wait—coffee. Didn’t I buy a latte? Where is my coffee?
It’s in the car with my purse which has my phone in it and I don’t want to see the phone because there is no one who could call that needs to speak with me.
I don’t really like my chair but I can’t do anything about it right now. If I could push it up even closer to the desk maybe it would cut me in half—right at my waist. Then I could fit both halves of me under the desk and no one could see me. Shit—that’s drastic. I don’t care. I want to go to sleep.
If I lay my head down on my desk for just a little while…maybe I could have a nap and I’d feel better when I woke up. What if I dream, though? I don’t want to dream, because I know it’s not going to be the dream I was having when the phone rang at 1:51am, which was wonderful and peaceful and I was floating in a wooden boat with the weather-beaten brick red paint peeling-off the sides and I was surrounded by butterflies. Golden butterflies that floated like daffodils incarnate and one landed on my finger and we were talking about the oak tree that was on the south side of the…
I’m not going to take a nap.
If I worked some, maybe I could just take my mind off of everything and do something productive instead of worrying. It’s a good thing the fingernails are fake. I’d have chewed them off by now otherwise.
The Windows logo is swirling on my screen, stirring my computer up for the day’s work. Logging in, methodical, user name and password.
“Alice. I’m…I’m sorry to call so late.”
“Who is this?”
“This is someone who needs you to…”
Email. Email. Get into my email and there will be work waiting there.
Messenger. Someone wants me on Messenger.
Ron43070: Good morning, sunshine!
AbbA72: Hi Ron.
Ron43070: How areya, Poodle?
Ron43070: Is that good?
AbbA72: I’m OK.
Ron43070: “OK?” What does that mean?
AbbA72: It means I suck and I’m welcoming the distraction of IM’ing with you this morning.
Ron43070: Ummm…ok. What the hell?
AbbA72: Had a rough night. Didn’t get much sleep.
(work in progress)