Back at Work

My parachute   My parachute?

opened.

Sailing!                        Plummeting!

Gathering spot.        Splat?

Dinner.                        Done here?

Met a dish!                  Made a wish!

Got his number!        The other!            

 So cute!                  Reserve chute!

Landed my dream. Landed.

Went to a movie.        Washed my clothes.

Went to work.            Cried two days.

Went to lunch            Drank too much.

Project Leader!          Hangover beater.

After work ???           Felt like a jerk.

Weekend!                 Catch up work.

Mountain biking      Mountain of work!

He’s here again!       By myself again.  

Honeymoon?          Clean my room.

Nice! Monaco. Hackensack

Riviera! Poughkeepsie.

Four Star Hotels       Downtown motels.

Big reception!           Cheap cheap pizza.

***

An old, haunted house up the hill, and of course I have to go there. Wouldn’t be a dream otherwise. But I don’t know if it’s a dream because I suck at lucid dreaming. My friends said to try it, but it just strings me out. Get so tired when I’m supposed to be resting. Of course, the door opens by itself, and into this anteroom to another foyer there’s this old creepy guy who has been doing his job too long. He needs a break. Sure hope I’m not his replacement. He opens his mouth to show me all his yellow teeth and horrid old black fillings, one for every molar, so regularly spaced out. Like how I’m feeling, like I know I don’t belong. My teeth are white, through and through, right down to the roots.

“This is check-in, can I have your reservation?”

“For what?”

“Aren’t you on an infinite vacation?”

“No!"

“Well, you’re booked! Look here.” He slides this old musty ledger, the kind my grandpa used to keep track of borrowed groceries from his corner store.

“That’s not me!”

“Why certainly, we’ll clear this right up. What is your name?”

“I’m not telling you!”

“Cynthia Martin. Thank you.”

“What?”

This guy is like death, right in front of me. He likes his job. How can that be? I’m young, I have a future. It’s not fair. He’s talking and talking and nothing makes any sense. I’m trying to imagine myself somewhere else, then he grabs my arm. Something really important to say.

“Mystery at Sea,” I would call it. But you better be fast. Not much time to write it. Especially that last chapter. Your cruise ship honeymoon disaster.”

“What on earth are you rambling about?”

“Ker-plunk! Over she goes.”

“Me?”

“Can I have your signature please?” He turns the ledger to me and I swear I see a little postcard embedded video of a faraway woman, climbing the rail Titanic style and tumbling head over keister into the drink!

I awake with a start. Stupid nightmares. Wake up exhausted and not myself. Off to work I go, where I'll stop, nobody knows! Oops, it’s that other guy at the office.

“You’re project leader now! Wowzah! Do I report to you now?”

“Ha! Nice one!”

“Catch you around!”

Not if I can help it. The boss wants to see me. I cruise by. Knock! knock!

“Hey Cynthia! Got a pile for you! Over there. Sorry on the phone right now. Catch you later.”

Best Friend at lunch. “So we’re always going to talk about work now? Like I have to be careful about what I say?”

Me. Headache, gotta rest. Too much, this getting ahead stuff.

***

An old house up the hill, and of course I have to go there. What interesting architecture! Gabled roof, turret and awnings, red brick and castle stonework. What an old dream house! The door opens by itself, how thoughtful! And there’s this old guy who looks so alone. He opens his mouth to show me all his yellow teeth and his black fillings, one for every molar, so regularly spaced out. And I'm thinking, poor thing, no dentist to help out? He smiles and puts his teeth away. This house sure is different. Don't think I would like to live here, but hey, just for one night.

"This is check-in, can I have your reservation?”

“For what?”

“Aren’t you on an infinite vacation?”

“No."

“Well, you’re booked! Look here.” He slides this old musty ledger, the kind my grandpa used to keep track of borrowed groceries from his corner store.

“That’s my name! How did you get that?”

His eyes light up. He winks and shows me his best profile.

"Honey, we have our ways!"

"So interesting! My grandad used to run a corner store and he would let people buy stuff on credit until they had the money to pay at the end of the month."

"Um, yes interesting.

"What kind of business do you run here? Are you a chain hotel? An independent?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm thinking of retiring. There's just no money in scary digs anymore. Not since everyone's life got so hectic and miserable."

"Gee, that's a shame! Maybe you could do this for entertainment? Why not advertise, open an account. I'll set you up, get you the business you need. It's my job, get people interested in whatever you need."

“Can I have your signature please?” He turns the ledger to me and I swear I see a little postcard embedded video of a faraway woman, climbing the rail Titanic style and tumbling head over keister into the drink!

"Sure be happy to sign! Great work on that old book! That woman looks just like me. Does she get rescued, you think?"

I awake with a start. Off to work I go.

Oops, it’s that other guy at the office.

“Hi Cynthia, I heard about your accident.”

“Yeah, all better now! Thanks for the thought!"

The boss wants to see me. I drop by. Knock! knock!

“Hey Cynthia! I was so worried! Some more work over there. Uh hang on. Sorry I need to brief Cynthia. Catch you later.” He sits down with me to go over things.

Best Friend at lunch. “So glad you are back. You've got a meeting with the parachute company boss about that parachute that didn't open. Hope it goes well!"

Me. Gotta rest. Back at work, finally.