Between falling in holes and general life, things have been busy.
By busy, I mean stressful. Everything is fine. It always is.
We have four work days and then we’ll be heading the mountains of Tennessee. I’m leaving behind my fifties to experience life as a sexagenarian. I need this so bad. I can’t wait to get away and just chill for a few goddamn minutes.
You know, a chance to reflect. Looking back over life.
It’s weird, looking back over life. I’m grateful to have seen the changes I’ve seen. I’m horrified by others. Sometimes, it’s easier to focus on little things.
Like the other day when I had a conversation with a coworker. A thought occurred to me that this 2023 conversation would have been different in 1983.
My coworker walked in first thing in the morning, shoving her phone in her back pocket, and bitching about all the phone calls she was getting.
Coworker: My butt’s been blowing up.
Me: Haha. It’s way too early for that shit. It’s not even 8 a.m.
CW: Right?
That would have been so different 40 years ago.
CW: My butt’s been blowing up.
Me: Your what has been what?
CW: My butt’s been blowing up.
Me: Don’t tell people that.
Me: See a doctor.
Okay, perhaps I could go a bit deeper when it comes to self reflection.
It also might be a good idea to never write about any coworker’s butt, regardless of context.
Or, maybe I don’t need to worry about self reflection! My sister got me a desk calendar for Christmas and I’ve been just relying on that to tell me how to feel. It’s called “Make every day your bitch”.
Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it. I mean, first of all, it’s one of those pull the pages off by day kind of calendar. By mid-January, I had way too many bitches. No one needs that many bitches.
I was super unimpressed for the first few weeks. Most of the sayings were about chocolate or coffee or wine. Shit you’d see on a G rated greeting card that was trying real hard to be snarky.
Then one day, late in January, I pulled the previous day away and read this:
“What doesn’t kill you will fuck you up mentally” And I was like “Oh my god, calendar. You get me.”
Then, the calendar turned into a complete asshole. Last Friday, my calendar told me “Life is good, you should get one,”
Wait? What? Fuck you calendar, I do have a life. I have a better life than you. I mean, sure, we are both in a cubicle right now…but you’re just paper. Stupid calendar.
Pretty sure, the phrase on the box “make every day your bitch” wasn’t talking to me.
I hope you all are well. I hope my sixties are kind.