just part of this ether

 

I was one of those wayward guys who drank bourbon, read pulp fiction, and smoked Chesterfield cigarettes.

I’d walk into a bar and begin railing against the government, my employer, my family, the last woman who’d rejected me.

Sometimes, I’d get so drunk the bartender would have to call the police, and they’d throw me in the drunk tank, and 

I’d wake up the next morning wondering how the hell I’d gotten there.

I’d go home, shower and shave, get dressed, go into work late.

My supervisor would call me into his office.

“What’s up?” he’d say.

“I’m late, I know,” I’d say.  “I’m sorry.”  Then I’d sort of shrug like that answered everything and say something really profound like “Life…”

My supervisor would watch me carefully and try to read my subtext.  “Life, what?”

I wouldn’t give it much thought beyond that.  Figured it was enough of an explanation.  But I knew I’d have to say something else because I was sitting in front of my supervisor, who could fire me without much cause. After all, I lived in a right-to-work state.

“Well, sir,” I’d begin, then desperately search for something else to say.  But what was there to say?

At that point, I’d usually come clean.

Or, more accurately, lightly soiled.

“I was up all night…couldn’t sleep…just thinkin’ about a lot of things… finally fell back to sleep about five, five thirty… thought I’d set the alarm, but I guess I hadn’t… oldest excuse in the book, I know… but it’s true…it won’t happen again…”

“Are you okay?  You seem a bit distracted.”

“I’m fine, sir.  Have a lot on my mind.  But as I said, that’s no excuse…”

“You know we have an employee assistance program…”

“Yes, sir, I know;  I appreciate that.  I’m fine.  Just need a good night’s rest.”

I’d go back to my cubicle and think about quitting again.

Then, I’d put my headset on and get that first call of the day.

“Emergency Crisis Hotline,” I’d say.

“I’m feeling very depressed,” the caller would say.

 I’d push the mute button on my phone console, take a deep breath, recall when I existed in the world before everything was blue, and make one last private plea for my day to end in at least one small victory.