No Dramatic Endings

Sometimes I wish life was full of dramatic endings.

If it were . . . tomorrow . . . I would get up early and exercise. The scotch I'm drinking wouldn't have left a hang over. I would write my morning pages, but I wouldn't pack a lunch.

I would leave on time and stop at the muffin store and buy one, over sized, ridiculous blueberry muffin.

I would walk into work, sunglasses on -- even though the overhead lights are kept off until 7:30. I would be holding my keys and clicking the switch-key in and out with the button. I would have left my purse in the car . . . and I would walk up to Dave and I would give him the muffin. I would set it on his desk. Then I would crouch down, holding his hand, and I would look him in the eye. And he and I would know what they have done.

Without dialogue.

And I would kiss him long and tenderly on the cheek. And I would mean it. Even in light of all his goofiness, they should have chosen him. And then I would walk back out the door.

And the credits would roll and some pop of the moment band would twang into their top 40 ballad, full of urgency.

Ah, me.

But that's not what will happen tomorrow.

Tomorrow I will get up and take a shower. I'll wash my hair and probably dry it. I'll put on something appropriate and I'll make a lunch. I'll drive the speed limit to work and park next to the super hot blue Mustang . . . just like I always do.

I'll go in and check my email.

I'll drink my coffee.

And then I'll go to the audit and present the population . . . like a good little soldier.

And meanwhile, Dave will tell everyone they hired a different white guy. Some Air Force fucker who used to sell arms to foreign nations. Named Marble. And everyone will wail and gnash their teeth. People from other divisions will come by, aghast, and ask me "What are you gonna DOOOOOOOO?" And I'll smile and act professional and be calm and dismissive and eventually they will go away.

Despite myself, I'll take the long view. I'll talk about loyalty to the Program and professionalism. I'll talk about keeping it upright. I'll quote Martin and his disaster movie.

And I'll fear my mortgage. And because of it, I will continue to believe that there might be a platinum year . . . ahead . . . somewhere.

One more golf playing white guy that, if I googled correctly, looks just the same.

And they all look just the same . . .