There is a bit of a lull at the end of the day, and she sits and writes.
PS: The grass is mowed, front and back yards are done. Laundry is off the line and put away. Trees are trimmed, trash all gone. Kids are fed and taking a nap on this cold, rainy day. I am the man, the woman, the whoever — and I rock this life.
The key is under that big brown rock by the gate, the one you struggle to move. Get to it.
I almost died today. Almost, but not quite. This job is an all day occupational hazard.
Our No. 2 boss, a stately old gentleman, came into the office at around 1500 hours as was his custom, to sign documents. We discussed the paperwork, he asked a few questions, signed all the papers with a flourish. Done with the day’s approvals, he stood up and walked out the door, to go back to his office, I thought.
Apparently not. What he actually did was walk down the hallway, double back quietly and then come back to stand by my door. He made sure I was busy at my desk. I must have been staring intently at the monitor, because I didn’t see him standing there.
All of a sudden, he dashes into the doorway, eyes wide, arms flailing, shouting what sounded like, “Wha-daaah!
I felt my heart stop for a full three seconds. He was red in the face from laughing so hard.
The blonde IT girl at the scanner table chastised him, “Hey, don’t scare the poor girl to death!”
“Sir, I had three mugs of coffee today, please don’t do that to me!” I manage to say as I will my heartbeat to return to normal.
“Just keeping you on your toes, young lady.” He grins at me and walks back, chuckling, to his office. For real this time, I made sure of that.
In yet another one of those politically incorrect, sexual harassment-fraught episodes that make my little life here so interesting, one of our gung ho guys comes into my office asking for help. After some Q & A and a bit of explaining, it turns out he wants me to do a creative interpretation of the rules so that he could buck the system, so to speak.
Me: No, Muscled Guy, you know I can’t do that. Against the rules. You’ll get me into trouble.
MG: Oh no, I wouldn’t get you into trouble, no Ma’am. I won’t mess with your work [pause]. But… let’s say I take you out on a date, then that’s when I’ll certainly get you into a whole lotta trouble [big grin].
Me: [Roll eyes. Shake head.] You should be so lucky.
MG: Oh, I wish [Shit-eating grin, all the way out the door].
All in a day’s work, my friends. All in a day’s work.
Lately, I have been re-visiting Vagabonding, the travel site that I have liked for years now. I chanced upon this entry that is about loving and leaving: the perils of falling in love while on the road, or while temporarily ensconced in some place. I can truly relate, and left a comment on the post, something I rarely do.
“For commitment-phobics, this could be a sweet deal, knowing that the relationship already comes with a built-in way out. For me though, while I am not strictly traveling 3-4 months a year, I am a temporary resident in another country and I go home every 3-4 months. It effectively puts relationships in limbo status — you can’t expect to form fully committed relationships where you are currently in country, and yet you can’t keep up a steady one at home because you’re away for most of the year. It does not mean you can’t have any relationships, though, it just means (well for me, at least) that you have to set more realistic expectations. That, and you better be prepared for a lot of goodbyes.”
I wonder if this will be true for me anytime soon.