Things I’m Not Going To Talk About:
- the drunk call I received at 2:30 this morning, two hours before I had to get up for work. Even if sleep hadn’t been an issue, that was a call I didn’t need, never needed, and for some reason didn’t hang up on.
- every barb and nettle in that voice, that slurring voice, the one that sought to remind me of all my faults
- how said phone call didn’t even address the surface stuff I’ve come to dismiss. That stuff doesn’t hurt anymore, not really. No, this phone call was a guilt-seeking missile that knew precisely what one or two chinks in the armor it needed to hit.
- how at work this morning, the strained veneer of I’m fine, I’m great, how are you? Can I get you a coffee? Latte? broke down after only an hour
Things I’ll Talk Off-Handedly About
- how quickly caffeine and rage sessions at the gym with Isaac can somehow nullify a lot of that shit
I hope you were hungover all day.
