Hm. We'll see if the gates of TRU are closed to me today.
I'm at the point where I will actually be disappointed if they aren't. I've got a lot to do.
I considered emailing Wes in warning, but knowing that he already worries and fusses to excess, I decided to wait until things were sorted out.
Nonetheless, I am going in. And if denied, will hang around until I get the few remaining bits and bobs from my cubicle.
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Emma
Emma is calling me a lot lately. I tend not to answer and when I do, I keep the conversation short. Her subject matter is limited. I get to hear about her political campaign, in which I am callously disinterested. I get to hear about how hard she's working. This gets no sympathy from me. And she always plays the Mom Card. Since her mother now lives a four hour drive away, this doesn't elicit any sympathy from me, either.
This Emma has been in place for about four years now. Gone is Emma The Creative, who was an excellent photographer, who painted watercolors, who read. This is Emma The Grim.
I understand now why my former friends fell by the wayside. I'm trying to de-Grim myself or at least be wildly amusing when I am.
I found I got miffed at the message she left me yesterday. "I'm over my Christmas depression. Maybe we can have a real conversation now instead of these twenty-minute things."
Actually, there was a tiny little explosion in me. Emma's conversations always hit the 90 minute mark. I have not been pining away, waiting for Emma's whatever baleful mood it is this time to dissipate.
In truth, The Cheesehead Christmas irrevocably damaged our friendship.
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I thought about waiting around until the temp agency opened before heading off to work (or not). But no, I must be up and showering.
Stay turned to the same bat channel.
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