Came home from work yesterday, almost crying on the bus, overwhelmed by feelings of failure. I should just suck it up. I was looking at all of the other workers. I’m one of about three white women on the bus. Daily on the ride home I see exhausted men of every background in conspicuity vests, students and travellers coming back from the airport; drawn looking women from all over Asia speaking a dozen different languages as they (from the sounds of it) talk to their sisters or argue with their kids or check in with their husbands. Most people play on their phones or listen to music. I jerk back and forth, back and forth, my spine sliding first this way and that, and get off the bus sometimes barely able to step down, my back hurts so much.
Today I’ll be alone downstairs; the boss is working from home and if the phones decide to explode (the way you do when you can’t afford to spend a single minute on the phone) I’ll be hard pressed. At least there’s leftover takeout in the fridge. And a stellar bunch of coworkers; they are darling and intelligent and it’s really been a privilege. And that’s a factor in what makes me a leedle weepy, too.
I’m in town for the weekend (I’d better be, I’m doing coffee at church on Sunday) and then I’ll be off to Victoria with Katie as walk ons the first of the week.
Nothing feels right. George calls to me, pats me with his social tentacle, and I’m too tired to focus to write; all I can do is BLORT this out in a parody of creativity.