I’m of a merry morning disposition, and somehow I’ve blithered through life without adding enemies as a result.
On Monday, I stopped by one office to ask how their weekend went. They asked about mine.
“Oh, I killed someone this weekend,” I said.
I decide to take this as them not believing me, and not as a sign of severe psychosis.
One woman says, “Lucky you,” and I leave.
A few hours later, I’m hard at work, and another colleague stops by my office. Gives me a meaningful look. Along glare-lines.
“I come in here, spill my soul, and you… you don’t even tell me??”
Color me confused.
He prods. “What you did this weekend….?”
Mind you, hours have passed. And I say many things in a day. AND, I spend every weekend doing the exact same thing: writing.
It doesn’t help that he’s waving around a giant pen in his fury.
He prods again. “Who did you kiss?”
I stare. I blink. I flip.
“I didn’t KISS anyone??! I KILLED THEM!!!! OMG, who TOLD you that? I KILLED–KILLED! Doesn’t anyone LISTEN???”
I turn to dial the office. He begs me not to, coz they’ll know he told me.
I incinerate him with my fury. “I cannot have them telling people I KISSED someone this weekend, when I KILLED them. People will THINK things!”
… I should probably conclude by mildly noting that I did not kill anyone either. But it’s one thing to wholly misrepresent oneself, and another thing entirely to have one’s misrepresentation misrepresented.
That is my profound take-home for the week. Bury it in your gardens, and may it sprout a tree of eternal confused truths. And may you pick leaves in your dreams.