Don’t Tell A Soul

Friday mornings- the happiest weekday mornings because it’s almost over. You can forget your misgivings, and your desire to pack up your Hello Kitty desk accessories and run. You go to Starbucks on the way to allergy shots. Those days, you find yourself wandering a different kind of office and, every once in a while, doors pop open revealing scary grey cubicle worlds inside. Threatening you with their businessy pants and microwaved Lean Cuisines for lunch. Ah, what fluorescent hells which send you scurrying back to the safety of primary colors and peanut butter cups. The devils in the details.

We should have been at Mohegan Sun, enjoying free drinks, Roulette, and our good seats for Blue Man Group. I should’ve had dinner at my grandparent’s house- the closest thing to my Mom’s cooking I’ll ever have again. At night, the cat we’ve had since I was a teenager would’ve curled up in bed with me, right under the blankets. My Dad would have came by with coffee and Dunkin’ Donuts in the morning.

I should’ve been on a plane tonight, landing at LAX in about 20 minutes. Instead, I came home from work and fell asleep on the couch around 7- shoes on, contacts in, makeup on and all. Woke up just in time to watch Lost, and be up all night.

I was supposed to fly out yesterday, but I didn’t go. Maybe if I were really supposed to go, it wouldn’t be so damned hard to get there.