Leaving Martyrdom By The Tracks

Today was terrible, horrible, no good, and very bad. I overslept. There was no coffee, and when I found things for breakfast it was a bad bran muffin that I never got to eat and a mushy banana that I only got a bite of by almost-lunch. Then I didn’t get lunch until 1:00 and it sort of sucked so much that I finished my mushy banana so that if I died the sucky lunch wouldn’t be the last thing I ever ate.

Then I worked and worked and worked and there was a retirement party about five feet behind me with shrimp and fruit and tasty things and cake and wine and beer and I didn’t get to have any because I was on phones and you can’t drink on the phones and you can’t eat while you’re on the phones, but everyone got very relaxed and happy and loud because it was a party and I COULDN’T.

But I wasn’t grumpy or put out because I can be a grown up and do what I have to do if I have to. Only, everyone was laughing and talking and playing so loudly that I couldn’t work very well, so I had to go hide in one of the tiny airless rooms in the back all alone and suffer there by myself so that I could work while they had a nice time. And I wasn’t grumpy.

And all the way home on the train I thought that I would get home and put my things down and then I would rush around and do the things that Must Be Done because Someone Must Bear The Burden, and maybe Shannon would say, “No, honey, you’ve worked hard today, you rest and I’ll cook dinner,” but I would be very Responsible and would tell her no, she worked too, and should rest instead.

Then I thought that maybe that was a little bit like a crock of shit, and was making my darling pay the price for me having a bad day, and that must suck for her. So, instead, the rest of the way home, I thought about how I would not stomp around in the kitchen, and, if Shannon said, “No, honey, you’ve worked hard today, your rest and I’ll cook,” I would smile at her and hug her and maybe go rest or maybe help her cook, and not make her sorry that I was home, even when I had a bad day.

And when I got to the train station to meet her, I was relaxed and could smile at my wife. And she said, “we should go do something nice, like get a drink or an indulgent dessert, because you had a hard day and I love you.”

I’m all mature, so I didn’t sniffle. But we talked about stomping in the kitchen, and not stomping in the kitchen, and she told me that if I wanted to prove my will power over stomping we could go home, or we could go have a Really Good Burger and a Beer.

We had a burger and walked in a garden. Twice. I guess my martyrdom is still walking home along the train tracks.

Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry

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