Tired

I walk through the wind and arrive for coffee with my ex-girlfriend as a rattled, worn down, tensed up wreck. And I stink, I have big stinking pit stains. We chat and old acquaintances walk past the window. Discussion turns serious. It goes badly – but I guess it would have if I’d arrived fresh and clear-headed too. On the way out I see Victoria, another old coworker and I steal a “Wow, it’s been a couple of years.” I head down to Dale‘s to turn over the bookkeeping project I’ve been working on for him. He asks if I’d like something to drink, “Some tea?” “A glass of water would be good.” “That’s not very interesting,” he says. “Okay, make that a scotch on the rocks,” I joke back. And of course he brings me a scotch on the rocks. He goes over the document I’ve made for him and finds a number of problems – one stupid mistake after another. We go through the changes, talking to crossed purposes, confusing each other. When I’m done, Dale gives me a ride home. He offers me a couple of other bookkeeping projects. I hem and haw, noncommittal. I don’t want to think about this, or anything else. I just want to get home. I think I was looking forward to getting home as soon as I stepped outside today.

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