Last Friday, something finally snapped in me. I think I’ve had enough.
A pounding headache woke me up at 7.30. Normally, I’d get up, brew some tea, fire up my work computer, and make a plan for the day. But, because of the headache, I shoved a cracker in my mouth with three painkillers, washed it down with water, and went back to bed. Those must have been some magical pills because I managed to pass out not too long after that. My partner woke me up at 9.45, reminding me I had places to be (at work, in my living room).
A mixture of anger (Why would you ever wake me up when I’m enjoying my sleep?), panic (How did it get to be so late?), and appreciation (Thanks for not letting me mess up my day more!) boiled inside of me. The headache was still there, though less than before. (Isn’t sleep a cureall?)
Once at my work computer, I found out I had multiple emails and chat messages from my boss, who needed me to do something quite time-sensitive. I slept through half of that allotted time. The assignment required communicating with others, which made my chances of completion slim to none. Inadvertently, I growled in disbelief – of course, something like this would happen this one time when I wasn’t there to take care of it right away.
When I explained my lack of immediate response, my boss was less than sympathetic. You don’t get paid to sleep. She said some less obnoxious things afterward, but I didn’t really hear her. What I considered doing was hanging up on her, switching my computer off, and going back to bed. If only I didn’t expect food in my fridge, a roof over my head, and utilities such as electricity and internet to be able to write and share my stories online.
The conversation ended, of course, with me apologizing and promising to do better while making her feel gracious for not firing me on the spot. I ended up getting a minimal number of responses, and so even though I turned my assignment in on time, it was not complete. Some people just don’t do their jobs…
Worried about becoming a single-income household, my partner didn’t have anything but contempt to offer. Being a walking, talking, breathing dollar sign is not who I want to be, so I vowed to work harder on becoming rich quick.
It was early afternoon when my partner reminded me about the dinner we were to attend that afternoon. It’s my father’s birthday! My fingers went straight to my hair, ready to pull. No, we could not reschedule, and no, a headache was not a good enough excuse to stay home. As if I didn’t feel dead to the world enough already…
Thankfully, I made sure we were running a bit late, so by the time we got to my partner’s parents’ house, we wished his father a Happy Birthday and immediately sat down to eat. I made a cheerful entrance, and no one was the wiser that the day had been terrible for me. It’s not about me. It’s about the Birthday
Boy Man. Getting through the dinner was something I wasn’t too worried about – I would just nod and ‘mhm’ a lot as I stuffed my face with food.
But then, they decided to test me – my partner’s sister asked why we had not hung out in a while, and I saw red.
Reaching over the table, I grabbed Daria by her hair and pulled until she had no choice but to get on top of the table, with her knees in mashed potatoes. I yanked her hair a few more times, side to side, and left her wincing in pain.
Seeing her food trampled, the matriarch of the family shrieked.
“Such delicious food you’ve cooked!” I complimented Monica and then proceeded to scrape the potatoes off Daria’s jeans and spoon them into Monica’s mouth until no amount of coughing could clear her airway.
My partner tried to restrain me, but he didn’t realize that once I was done with the potatoes, I dropped the spoon and picked up a knife and fork. So, I stabbed him in the eye with the fork and knife in the neck. He didn’t know which one to grab at to help himself.
Daria lifted her head to assess the situation, shocked by the turn of events. But before she could process anything, I slammed her face into the marble table. The sound of her nose breaking even made me shiver.
“Enjoying the show?” I asked the Birthday Man, who was rooted in his seat, not sure whom to help first. Or whether he had the time to run away. “I hate your guts, you useless bastard,” I said as I punched him straight in the face.
Leaving the chaos behind, I went outside for a cigarette.
Or so I imagined.
“Sorry, I’ve just been really busy with this new job. You’re right, Daria – we need to get something on the books soon,” I replied smiling, and everyone returned to their food and side chats.
If they only knew…
P.S. The above is completely fictional.
P.S. As it’s technically two scenes, I will count it as that. It reads better when it’s in a single post rather than divided into two.
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