I MISS HER ON THE BLUE DAYS

After years of concerted effort, I think my boss finally broke me today.

I was volunteered for yet another task that would neither assist me or any of my colleagues in developing skills, nor magically provide me with more time to do the research that I don’t have time for as it is.

Like the eight previous times, I was volunteered for something so bizarrely unimportant that it would take the first human being living without a brain to still try and imagine that I hold any sort of esteem in the eyes of my supreme leader.

Usually I put up a good fight. But today something in me just surrendered. I’m battle weary and I have to preserve the fight left in me for those issues I truly believe in.

It is on days like this I miss my mom most. She knew just how to manage my battle fatigue.

I would come home and phone her in a puff of anger. She would remain quiet while I tell my story, often falling into the shamelessness of gross hyperbole. She would not ask questions or try to justify any work or action aimed against me. She would wait until I was thoroughly emptied of acrimony and then invite me over. Of course, that invitation was the whole purpose of the phone call…

At her house she would have a cup of tea at the ready. She would vent in anger with me, how could they do that to me, don’t they know…?! She would justify my feelings, I would feel just as you are, it is so unfair. She would spoil me with my favorite foods, none of which veered on the healthy side.

As the evening progressed we would giggle and talk and cry (well, I would). And by the time I had to return home I would be at peace with the world because I was not alone in it and should it rise against me, the fiercest woman I knew would stand behind me.

I would also be thoroughly aware of my own hypersensitivity and periodical unreasonableness. And I knew my mother had somehow brought me to these realizations without violating her position by my side.

Tonight, I’m not sure if my indignation is reasonable or if I’m just being a child. What I am pretty certain of is that now I am alone against the world. And I must toughen up because the world does not bow down to meet us on our knees. And maybe tomorrow I will feel my old self and resist or come to my senses. But tonight, as I’m sitting here, I’m going to drink too many chococinos and wallow in self-pity and ice cream.

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