I've been talking since 8:30 this morning non-stop except to have questions put to me or the 10 minute break I took to eat half a tub of yogurt and look up German midwife faces. And every day is made much longer by my fucking nerves are fucking shot, always. Chairing little meetings and running the giant 100 person open faculty meeting and every damn configuration of groups of PhDs you can bear to imagine, words words words, privately my nerves shot shot shot. Earlier in the day, again my boss, a pretty good sport yet he is a boss, so let's face it, they often make life harder (too), suggests to the VP that to solve the space crunch perhaps from now on professors might not need personal offices.
It is true. I am fully aware that it is an immense luxury in this very unfair world for me to have this door that slams shut (this used to be my ex-husband's office space, and his relentless ill humor finally broke the hydrolic hinge, so shutting my door is deafening), behind which I can be alone. And sit here. And shake a bit. Breathing back the ever readiness of crying that now lives just behind my face.
I told him, deadpan, "Well, you can do that, but I will eventually fucking kill somebody."
So now, the day is finally over at work, and not yet started at home, my summoning between what I think of in my head as Buckwheat's voice: Everything is Otay! And into my email pops this from my boss. Like I said, he's a pretty good sport, and he gets props for giving me the two small bits of levity that this day mustered. I'd put it on Crackbook if I still had an account, but all the energy I have for Outward Facing is consumed in the mere practices of my everyday life. If anybody reads this post and still has the personal capacity for social media, repost it for me somewhere because I don't think you could ever say FUCK enough next to everybody's mother fucking tit-selfies, memes and dinner photos.
bonus track, sent from my would-be office mate next door with whom I've made a murder-suicide pact if we have to move into together, who watches it for hours (because her nerves are also shot)
