Tuesday March 21, 2017
From a Facebook post
It’s Wednesday and the whole notion of “hump day” makes her stomach turn. “Why do we live in a world where two thirds of the population are okay with the idea that Wednesday is a hump we have to get over?” Leila says.
“What?” Su peeks over the dividing wall between their cubicles.
“I’m talking to myself!”
“Lower your voice then, princess. You’re getting in the way of my f-l-o-w!”
Leila loves Sugreet, she really does, but their desks are practically on top of each other and he often sings Beyonce under his breath which gets in the way of her work f-l-o-w, so, she doesn’t apologize. Not today.
Sunday November 8, 2015
Okay so I started taking this improv class-that’s what they say, it’s so cool, they don’t even finish the word. It’s every week on Tuesdays and the class is 3 hours long and it is the best thing in my entire life. It’s so funny. People really are hilarious in this class so I never feel like it’s a waste cause I’m always laughing and sometimes till I’m crying and that is the best feeling. Our instructor, Vijestica is a hobbit sized woman and she has a big laugh that starts, I am convinced, in her groin. She’s always snorting and shooting snot out of her nose because she loves to laugh and gets us really excited about our choices! In improv you learn how to YES AND which means nothing is wrong and everything is a good idea and you say yes to the first choice that comes and just keep building on that until you’re really rolling with it all and the jokes just flow and the laughs just follow. Vijestica says this is a safe place to leave the everyday at the door. I am so glad to leave my everyday at the door because working in a cubicle the size of an outhouse in my everyday is actually the thing that might kill me. It’s awful, there’s no silliness or fun, only deadlines and people telling me “nice maroon sweater, Alma,” or “Did you eat my peanut butter tuna sandwich, Alma?” Here, in improv class, we all just smile and tell each other how great and brave we all are.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
At the beginning, they were strangers.
They knew the “hello” and the “how are you?” but that was about it.
At the beginning, they stole glances like candybars, over the cubicle wall that separated them.
“Were you on vacation, Vicky?” Don asked, after she’d been gone for two whole weeks, after he’d looked for her, asked about her, wondered where she might have disappeared to.
“No, Don…” She replied, “I was in the hospital.”
“Oh dear!” Said Don, feeling terrible that he’d even asked, feeling shy, feeling hot in the cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Vicky…” He returned his eyes to his computer screen.
A few minutes later, there she was, kneeling beside him, so close that he could feel her breath on his ear, smelling of the yogurt cup she’d had for lunch.
“I wanted to tell you what was going on, to be in touch, but I realized, when I was away, I don’t even have your phone number! I don’t even know your last name! I see you more than I see my own husband…” She paused, for just a second, “and I don’t even know your last name!”
“Webster,” said Don, quietly. “My last name is Webster.”
Vicky leaned in, their foreheads touching. “I was in the hospital. I had a miscarriage.” Don didn’t know what to say. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.