honorable mention for... worst day EVAR.
Today was completely awful. Not only did I get a total of three hours of sleep, due to some issues and drama, but a lady at work screamed at me so loudly that everyone in the store could hear her. Ugh. Sometimes I want to slap myself silly for working in retail. Oh HAI I have a degree and I'm not stupid. Alas, this is what she called me... "stupid, idiot girl." This would be funny in any other situation, I realize, because who even talks like that? But she was screaming... it was so embarrassing.
I don't even want to get into that. Really.
I'm going to bed. I have to work again in the morning, and I'm absolutely dreading it. No call/no show, anyone? I need a rest, really. I feel like I'm being pulled in a thousand directions, everyone wanting or expecting or, even, needing something from me that I want so badly to give, but I can't.
But now, the semester is complete. I turned in my last final early. I want to hibernate until next semester.
Here's our treeeeeeee! And some verse!
excerpt from: The Touch by Anne Sexton
For months my hand had been sealed off
in a tin box. Nothing was there but subway railings.
Perhaps it is bruised, I thought,
and that is why they have locked it up.
But when I looked in it lay there quitely.
You could tell time by this, I thought,
like a clock, by its five knuckles
and the thin underground veins.
It lay there like an unconscious woman
fed by tubes she knew not of.
The hand had collapsed,
a small wood pigeon
that had gone into seclusion.
I turned it over and the palm was old,
its lines traced like fine needlepoint
and stitched up into the fingers.
It was fat and soft and blind in places.
Nothing but vulnerable.
And all this is metaphor.
An ordinary hand--just lonely
for something to touch
that touches back.
The dog won't do it.
I don't even want to get into that. Really.
I'm going to bed. I have to work again in the morning, and I'm absolutely dreading it. No call/no show, anyone? I need a rest, really. I feel like I'm being pulled in a thousand directions, everyone wanting or expecting or, even, needing something from me that I want so badly to give, but I can't.
But now, the semester is complete. I turned in my last final early. I want to hibernate until next semester.
Here's our treeeeeeee! And some verse!
excerpt from: The Touch by Anne Sexton
For months my hand had been sealed off
in a tin box. Nothing was there but subway railings.
Perhaps it is bruised, I thought,
and that is why they have locked it up.
But when I looked in it lay there quitely.
You could tell time by this, I thought,
like a clock, by its five knuckles
and the thin underground veins.
It lay there like an unconscious woman
fed by tubes she knew not of.
The hand had collapsed,
a small wood pigeon
that had gone into seclusion.
I turned it over and the palm was old,
its lines traced like fine needlepoint
and stitched up into the fingers.
It was fat and soft and blind in places.
Nothing but vulnerable.
And all this is metaphor.
An ordinary hand--just lonely
for something to touch
that touches back.
The dog won't do it.