Real Estate Infomercial (Pam; gen)
Title: Real Estate Infomercial
Rating: K
Disclaimer: I own two bags of candy corn in the freezer. I do not own Pam.
A/N: A little early-Season 3 Pam fic. From back when she was still fancy. Semi-autobiographical in places.
Oh, God, the sheer horror of a sleepless night.
A Wednesday, and she’s tried everything. Books. Tea. Milk. A snack. A warm bath--now her hair’s damp and chilly on the back of her neck.
But it’s four in the morning despite all her efforts, and she is hellishly awake in a bathrobe and slippers in bathrobe and slippers, watching a real estate infomercial on TV Guide Network and having a crippling period of self-doubt.
It’s times like these when Pam wonders what she’s doing. Not about the apartment or the art classes. Those fit; they make her feel warm and strong and in control. No, she wonders why she’s still answering phones surrounded by people she can only tolerate at best. Why she hasn’t cut all her ties and run to the horizon. She’s gone into this whole “new person” thing only half-cocked, the strips of shed skin from the old Pam falling over mouth and eyes and hands, and she feels foolish. She wants to be a different person. She wants to be a person who... buys real estate and sells it again for an amazing profit.
She doesn’t really, though, because she knows it’s a scam and it wouldn’t be her getting a bigger piece of pie. It’s pragmatism, ingrained in her like a sensible cardigan over her bones.
She doesn’t doubt her solitude, at least. It’s almost a relief, really. Better than having someone else around. Love doesn’t keep her up at night... Love’s easy. Most, if not all, of the men at work are in love with her at least a little, despite her drabness and sensible skirts. She’s sick of love of men wanting her and of herself being so codependent that she’d stay holding on by her fingernails to nothing because it seemed easier than leaving.
No, she’d rather be by herself. She wishes she were better company, though.
The dawn comes slowly, creeping in blue, then white. She gives up on the TV and watches the world wake up. It’s wet and still, and the sky’s covered in with an even layer of thick cloud. It looks so close she could almost reach up and draw on it.
She makes coffee and dresses for the day. Her eyes throb and her mind is fuzzy, but other than that, she feels okay.
Yeah. She can to this.