I had developed a serious unrelenting hatred for the young salesgirl. You have to understand, my experience with her ilk that would visit our office was with her rival company. Those young women were sexy like stewardesses, clicking into the office with treats, dressed in conservative corporate gear, perfect lipstick. They were like deadly viper assassins of the sales world - they would come in, ask for someone, remind me that they can give cpe, hand over their treats, smile and leave promptly. I love them unapologetically.
But this new breed from the other company was . . .just the worst. Crummy cheap treats (bad), lingering (worse) and overly familiar (death knell). I couldn't stand the way she would dress, all hipster casual cute like this would endear her to other tired older admins like myself. I had a plastic mug from her rivals that was a pretty blue on my desk and I used it for candy related trash so I would not find mystery wrappers strewn all over my desk because some of our clients are goddamn savages. She immediately assumed this swore my allegiance to her rivals instead of it being a nice colored mug in the cabinet I found, making me dislike her even more intently. I moved from dislike to outright hatred when she came with some of her brethren at ten to five and proceeded to linger. Bitch ain't nobody want to talk to you! Also, why you got a posse? Is this suddenly a dangerous neighborhood and no one else but you got the memo?
I would seethe about this. When I started to consider murder, I knew my Exile had suddenly become dire. I kept wearing the same things to work, my tasks this time of year post-deadline are repetitious, I was in a deep, deep rut at work especially, but outside of work as well. It was time to let myself off the leash.
So I spent the two weeks figuring out what to let slide and to give myself permission to fully submerge myself into the dumpster and be a complete garbage animal. Right this very moment, there's a very full sink with dishes that I am very consciously ignoring so I can blog. Because I haven't had a chance to blog in ages because I've been writing for my class and much like when I was writing my book, I could only manage so much at once. But my last class is out and now I have no reason not to blog. Like, I've been doing magic and everything. Nothing grinds you down like exile because the only thing worse than the tower you're locked in is the prison your brain becomes where nothing outside of exile seems important anymore. It doesn't matter if you swiped your sister's gold embroidery floss on the way out the door, you don't want to sew. It doesn't matter that there's a field of flowers by your tower and you are permitted to go outside for an hour with your guards and pick flowers, you just lie in your bed and stare at the ceiling. It doesn't matter that you are permitted letters, they are in a stack in a basket, unread.
read
eat all the things
campfire
see peoples
drink and then drink some more
start changing your brain pattern ruts
consider ridiculous and impractical solutions
if you have the money, buy a thing
back to work, austerity friend, now really get yo shit together with new patterns and less shitty habits until next time