Heels off. Fan, where is the fucking fan? Why is it so damn hot? I’m home in my sanctuary, where is my calm? Find fan, sit with head between knees. It is still so hot. Sweet puppy noses seek their way to my face.
Pretty blue dress. Cool bathroom linoleum aligning my spine. Will I puke? At least I scrubbed the toilet the other day. Should I remove the dress to avoid vomit splash? I cannot move. Cry. Why am I crying? I thought I was just overheated. But I cry. Hear Joey sniffing at the door; feel horrible when she whines. Feel the bought air.
Sweat dries along with most of the tears.
Am I about to lose everything material I’ve worked for?
Allow myself to lean back into the arms of the man I love, belly full of pasta and wine.
I know who I am. I do not need the approval of the powers-that-be at work.
No, I do. I need this job.
Some ass-jockey can come in and end it without reason. With zero regard to any of us in the company.
Damn. It’s only Monday.