The world gets smaller with age.
The path repetitive; the spirit caged.
Instead of meandering, wandering, discovering, we pace.
creating a rutted path from home to work from work to home and so on - with maybe a deviation here and there. But usually, we shop at the same stores, attend the same place of worship, interact with the same people, travel the same routes.
_____
Yes, it had been a trying day, an experience in frustration, a day from devised by demons.
Then, I dropped my snacks. Then I took a picture of said snacks & posted it on Instagram with the caption, "Et tu, snacks?" as though it was my snacks fault that they were dropped. As though my walnuts, wasabi peas, and raisins decided to revolt and started shaking and jumping about like Mexican jumping beans on Flakka until they flung themselves from my hands. My stressful clumsiness was not to be blamed. It was the snacks! They deserved to be humiliated on social media. I earned that moment of American exceptionalism. I was having a bad day. (Insert eye roll emoji here) Aaaaand action!
A photo posted by jennandbellajean (@jennandbellajean) on
To be honest, this summer, nay this past year, has felt a bit like Chinese water torture or Spanish water torture as it's sometimes referred to in Europe (no offense to Chinese people or Spaniards. If anyone has a more politically correct name for the act of restraining a person then dripping water on the same spot on her forehead until she goes insane, please let me know). While everything major has stayed pretty status quo, there has been a constant pick, pick, picking quality of existence that is about to send me screaming into the wild. It's as though the universe is a bratty child poking me in my arm repeatedly saying "are you annoyed yet?"
In retaliation, I instagram my fancy snacks and play Candy Crush more than is good me. What a loser.
See, here's the thing. I know things can be way worse. I know that performers canceling at the last minute, or simply not showing up (so my day has to do a complete turn-around and tasks that would've been completed still sit wait), working 50 hours a week and being paid only for 40 and not being eligible for any comp. time or allowed to even document the actual number of hours worked ( so it looks as though 50 hours of work were completed in 40), working short for close to 2 months (again) d/t to call offs (b/c when your staff is very very tiny, that's just what happens), being viewed as a non-essential employee in the health care world and having everyone think your job is "so much fun"(especially nurses who get paid for all their hours worked. Oh, and get bonuses for shifts picked up). None of this compares to having your house blown up, your city bombed time and time again, having to choose which belongings to pack in a backpack as you flee your home.
This photo came out sometime during the week that almost broke me. The same day I saw this during a moment stolen from the workday to hurriedly check in with the virtually real world. Later that afternoon I was confronted by an mob of angry grandmas protesting the rules of bingo. Yes, bingo. Not my rules - the official bingo rules(yes there are official bingo rules).
Them: Today in bingo somebody won with a postage stamp but it was wrong.
Me : Oh.. o.k (shrug) What?
Them: It was in the wrong corner.
Me: There is a right corner?
Them: It's always the upper left hand corner.
(They are very upset about this, getting louder, people are starting to talk at the same time)
Me: I was unaware that there was a specific corner. Whatever you want to do ....
Them: We've always played it like that.
Me: O.k. I did not know that.
Them: She said it's not in the bingo rules
Me: There are bingo rules??
At this point my assistant approaches, hands me her phone with the page to the official bingo rules pulled up. A postage stamp can be in any corner, by the way.
Me: Oh, a postage stamp can be in any corner according the official bingo rules.
