Rear View

17 Dec

There are days, like today, where I feel that the very office in which I work is sucking the life out of me via the beds of my fingernails.  It is a combination of textures, sounds and smells that culminate into an unavoidable migraine.  One overweight, sweaty, mouth-breathing migraine…with unwashed hair.

The phone has been a highway of petty complaints and righteous indignation of the likes that have never been heard.  My octogenarian co-worker has harangued me with rhetorical questions & hour-long answers.  Answers that were peppered with burps and smells that rolled in like a summer fog and lingered all day.

I think that my inability to deal with the rigors of this office stem from the fact that it has been quiet today…too quiet.  Seriously.  I cannot be pleased.  It is either too busy or not busy enough.  Today fell  on the not-busy-enough end of the spectrum.  This means that I have spent the better part of the day surfing the internet for a new blog to read, reading a quick biography on Ansel Adams and perfecting the ability to balance ink pens on my nose.  I am a pro.

Thus I find myself at the dreaded last 30 minutes of the work day.  A part of the day so horrifically slow that it was once considered as a new way to measure the amount time it took a sloth to reach down and scratch it’s derrière.  With no sloths around to entertain me, what ever will I do?

Astonish you with the heart-stopping cuteness of my son, of course.

Photograph by Raine Boyd

This is what I see through my rear-view mirror every morning on the way to Pre-K.  He is like a mail carrier: neither rain, nor sleet, nor hail, nor snow will keep him from enjoying the morning air on his face.  On particularly cold mornings, such as today, he is only allowed to roll down the window and commune with nature at red lights.  As soon as the light turns green, the window goes up along with the heater.

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