Friday, November 4, 2011

not a teacher

Training becomes a purposeful neglect and my neurosis climbs a muscle up the left side of my neck. Her asset is speed and her liability the same. She can type as fast as anyone can talk, she brags. I refrain from the response, But I can't talk as fast as you can type.

Young and yankee meets a slow south.

I turn the chair around, straddle it, cross my arms across the back of it and rest my head as I imagine I am glued to the chair, paralyzed from the chin down. Think of this. Make a note of that. Remember this. If you don't know that and I am not here where would you find it? Everything is there. 


Wait.


What?


Think.


It's okay.


Everything is fine.


I rub the left side of my neck and feel the tightness reach my brain. I tell myself this work is not important, nobody will die over a voided invoice, the customer will be okay with that mistake and oh my gosh I can't take it, please just let me do it and you watch me and really watch me this time and listen and I can't take this anymore. It's been nice meeting you but when you laugh I want to scream and I know it's me and I am so sorry you have me training you because patience was never one of my strong points and if I had home schooled my child he would have been illiterate so maybe this is going to send me over the edge of some cliff of insanity 'cause I used to like it when people laughed and I am going to have to go get in my car and drive away and never be seen again. You'll forget me. It'll be okay.

buhbye.



But no, I am glued to the chair. I am paralyzed from the chin down so I say,

Wait.


What?


Think.


It's okay.


Everything is fine.




Fine in the outside world. Inside me someone's fingernails are scratching a chalkboard and my brain is screaming, Everything is now destroyed, followed by many exclamation points, one last gasp and it's own death.



Grateful for Friday and those people in this world who can teach. Someone please give those people a raise.

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