The strength of strings

All the blood ran out of his face when my boss said they were putting me on a plan. It’s not the kind of plan you want to be put on. I became aware of my body language, uncrossed my arms, sat back, leaned forward, smiled.

I went back to my desk and pretended everything was normal, updated a deck and sent it with a cheery note, then cleared my calendar for the next couple hours, said I was sick, got in my vanpool van and headed south, not sure where I was going.

I stopped under a bridge in a congested area that leads to an industrial island and called my friend Steve, who had been through this before. We made plans for beer and advice after work.

And then I drove back to the parking garage at work and sat there in the dark, waiting to feel something but nothing came.

For a while now, I haven’t been happy at work. You can accept that to an extent, but it’s your line to draw for yourself. I said to my boss in my mid-year review, I don’t love it enough to be as good at it as I should be.

The guy who cuts my hair says it’s what I’ve wanted, and there’s something with my ego I have to understand and address, then move on.

So last night I made a southern variation on chicken pot pie, with bacon and frozen corn, and we finished the wine my friends brought for my birthday. Even with a slipped disc, I could still shake my rump to some Outkast while Dawn filmed it on her phone and the girls covered their faces in disgust.

I warmed the hot tub and after, we fell asleep watching a movie on the laptop in bed. I submitted two pieces to a writing contest, titled The World of Nameless Birds and How to Make Believe. My first attempts at publication, with a $1,000 prize. A year later, a better writer.

Post title inspired by Gene Clark song, The Strength of Strings, 1974.

 

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
This entry was posted in death and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

16 Responses to The strength of strings

  1. alesiablogs says:

    Someone else making “our” plans is no fun.

    Like

  2. amommasview says:

    It will open another door…

    Liked by 1 person

  3. rossmurray1 says:

    This sounds dire. What’s a plan? Is this code? It sounds Orwellian. Or American. What does it mean?

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      It’s Corporate. I was incorporated. Sorry to be obtuse. Dinner at 5 sound good? We can catch up then over some roasted squash.

      Like

  4. Yahooey says:

    Glad to hear you have the writing. I still spend too much time watching finger pointing CYA dance from up close.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. ksbeth says:

    Anything called ‘the plan’ is ominous at best. Time for a change to something that does not include a plan. Good news about the writing – best, Beth

    Like

  6. Karen says:

    Good luck with the contests 🙂 Sorry to hear about what you’re going through at work.

    Like

  7. Tish Farrell says:

    Many commiserations on being the object of corporate fxxxwittage. But, hey, you are a great writer, so more power to your creativity. Keep writing, writing, writing…

    Liked by 1 person

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