*
Tomorrow I'm not a teacher or a University Associate. Tomorrow I am a writer. Not the creative kind ... the sell out kind. The kind that gets paid for putting words in the right order and making a clear statement; clear no matter how boring.
When I am this woman I wear clothes that are meant for sitting in. Sitting behind a table with a stack of freshly sharpened pencils. Ready for frequent coffee breaks. A light laugh when the men go outside to smoke every hour and a half. Smiling inanely when they ask each other, Working hard or hardly working? (How many times can that joke be funny?) Carrying a stack of business cards as though I am somebody important in terribly high demand.
This is another fantasy. Another mismatched piece of who I am, a piece with ragged edges crammed in forecefully despite its inability to harmonize and fit. It has nothing to do with who I am when I step inside my house and close the door behind me.
I have stopped longing for the freedom to be at home all the time without responsibilities. Things are in good balance right now. A bit of academia, a bit of professionalism, and some corporate nonsense thrown in for good measure. None of them fit very well, but together as a package they seem to work for now.
*
I'm so tired tonight. I'm going to bed early. Tomorrow I'll need to be out of the house by about 7:00am... which means it's going to be a long day, even with the nonstop flow of corporate-meeting coffee.
*
No comments:
Post a Comment