Drunk

We need another night like this. Drunk. Or getting there. Giggly and silly. Giddy and stupid.
My friend asked me out for drinks saying we need this. “We. Need. This.” She stressed every word to make me hear them, understand them. My answer was a sigh. Even getting drinks on campus sounded like work. Later, my mother said I sounded tired when we talked. The phone felt heavy, but I didn’t want to get into it. I couldn’t get into it. She simply wouldn’t understand. Where have I heard that before? I felt bad that I wasn’t even giving her the benefit of the doubt. I simply decided she wouldn’t get it and couldn’t say more. Tired. I let her go on about spaces too small for toddlers, gifts too expensive for birthdays, dates for a visit too inconvenient. Everything too something. I thought about work.

We “moved” my office yesterday. Today I want to buy paint. Someone told me that paint makes everything better. Fresh start. I like that idea. I want honorable colors. Colors that reflect seriousness, authority, respect, the whole thing. Is that even possible? I’ve never had an office of my very own before. I walk around coworkers sensing veiled resentment. It follows me, swirls around me. I want to scream. Don’t hate me because I worked my ass off. I gave up message boards and frivolous websites for a promotion. I stopped wearing jeans and sirsy shirts. I gave up the proverbial water cooler to get ahead. I started doing more than my job. I started doing yours.

I am tired. I will welcome a week of nothing when it gets here. Please get here. Maybe I’ll get to that list of projects. Open that BIG bottle of Merlot and get drunk. Drunk and giddy. Drunk and silly. Drunk.