Everything is Still Bad When it is Good

Goddammit Steph, you did it again. You woke up. First huge mistake. And I know that you’re going to interrupt me with No, you're a newlywed woman with dreams and a beautiful job and- just stop. I know I have things to be grateful for but I’m not in the mood for gratitude. My whole life feels like an episode of “Grey’s Anatomy” but that doesn't sound too bad stop- but they all fall in love in the end- what did I tell you? Stop interrupting my story. Everything is happening at once, I wake up, my back is sore, my hair is a mess, my shoes were untied from yesterday. Aren't they supposed to be that way? You know what? No. No, they are not. They are not supposed to be untied when I wake up. Do you want to know why? Because then I can't just step into them like I should be able to do. Slide them onto my feet, problem-free. Doesn't that damage your shoes over time? Do I seem like the type of person to give a damn about my shoes? Yes. SHUT UP. 

Next thing I know my wife is sneaking up on me with a hot cup of tea. Why is that bad? BECAUSE EVERYTHING IS BAD, CAN YOU STOP? I didn't feel like having a “tea day” and I just wanted the bitter burnt taste of coffee because that is what I deserve. I deserve trash. No you don’t… yes, I do. 

“What do you think you're doing?”

“I'm bringing you tea, you love tea.”

“Not right now.”

I turn around and stomp out the door, slamming it behind me without taking my favorite cardigan. I bet it was waving in the window missing me. That's something Cassie would say to make me feel bad about how I treated her and my belongings. I can feel however I want to feel, she signed up for this. As a cherry on top, she reserved car usage for today so I have to take the bus to work. Public transit isn't that bad, it is that bad when you're already having a shit day. Nothing really happened yet today, I don't understand why- I know why. Because you won't let me have my feelings. DAMMIT.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

I put on the least genuine smile that there has probably been in all the history that we as humans know of.

“Yes, I'm fine.”

“You look pretty scraped up there and that was a big fall, do you want me to call someone?”

“No, thank you,” I said a bit more forcefully then I meant to. 

“Now I don't need you to get an attitude with me young lady, I just wanted to help you.”

“GET OUT OF MY FACE BOOMER”

First snap of the morning. Perfect. And it was at an old lady.

She scampered off. I'm not going to lie, it was a little funny watching her try to run off with her ancient hips. Hey, that's not funny, let me have my joy. I know I'm a bad person. 

After she was a good distance away from me, I got up, brushed my legs off and kept walking towards the bus stop. Wait- I smell something- it smells nauseating. I think it's coffee. Yes! Coffee! Now, literal human poison like a Monster or a Redbull would be better, but this is torture enough.

“Hi, what can I get for you today?”

What's the thing that will give me the most energy but won't encourage a caffeine addiction because it tastes so bad? 

“A large cup of black coffee please”

Good job! You said please! Don't patronize me. 

“Anything else with your order?”

“No.”

“Okay, that will be,” I hear him type in my order into one of those tablet things. His finger tapping is very loud. Honestly, I'm only ordering one thing, what's the point of this? 

“Sorry, sorry, about that, the tablet was being slow. Technical difficulties, am I right?”

I give him a small head not because I'm not a fan of small talk. But getting to know people is a joy of life. It's not if you have better things to do. My better thing is self-torture. Come on, give yourself a break- I'm sorry, but whomst asked for your opinion? But I'll sit at that table over there, but not because you told me that I should be nice to myself.

“Ugh!”

“One large black coffee for Stephanie”

“Thanks,” I grumbled.

Now I can get on the bus. Get on the bus, go to my job, get home from my job, get a lecture from my wife, go to bed. The perfect day. 

The bus was not actually that painful, I find the hatred in the little things in life. Well, that's some optimism, I don't care. I think you do. I stop arguing as I see my egotistical boss strolling towards me, probably wants to know how I’ve been or if I’m doing well with my new promotion. He always has something to say.

“Hey, Steph-o. How was breakfast?”

I just stared at his feet, he probably thinks I have a foot fetish considering how often I stare at people’s feet. You only do that when you don't want to talk, I never want to talk. That's why he probably thinks I have a foot fetish. 

“Didn't have anything,” I said practically into my shirt. 

“Any plans for lunch?”

“No.”

“Any plans for this evening?”

“No.”

“Okay, look. I didn't come to talk about your plans all day, someone in HR said they were worried about you. You seem to not be interested in anything. This field is for passionate people, you're an archeologist for God’s sake. Why-”

“Am I shitting on everyone’s parade?”

Finally I look him straight in the eye. His eyes looked full and his eyebrows furrowed together upwards. He looks me up and down, searching for some answer to his question by my body language. I hope it's telling him to back off. Why do you have to be so dismissive of him? He is only trying to help? Because I don't want his help. I don't want anyone’s help. 

“Stephanie I think you need professional help.”

I can't believe he just said that. I can. You don't know anything about me, either of you. I know plenty. Not enough to leave me alone. I know too much to leave you alone, without me you would have been fired long ago for bad attitude. My attitude is fine, thank you. Does it really sound like it? Your boss is saying you need “professional help” which just means therapy. That would be good for you Steph. Don't call me Steph, that name is only reserved for people I like or people who don't care if I hate them. 

“Steph-o, you in there?”

“Oh yes, sorry.”

“Do you need me to repeat the question?”

“No.”

“Stephanie?”

“Sure, fine. I don't believe I need a therapist.”

“Steph, there is no shame in going to therapy and our insurance covers it.”

“Don't call me Steph.”

“Okay, I won't. Stephanie we are requiring you to go to 6 hours of therapy or you’re fired. You aren't happy and you are taking everyone down with you.”

“It's fine if I'm not happy all of the time.”

“Correct, but recently it seems like you are happy none of the time.”

The man has a point. Oh shut up.

“Fine then, I quit.”

He gives me a look. A look like I got into Harvard and I had the money for it but I chose not to just for funsies. A look of sympathy. A look of pity.You are making this up, it's all in your head. No, it's not. He is being a bad person and I am just trying to live my life. 

I turn around and leave. I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I'm not sad, why am I crying? Because you have feelings. No, I don't, besides disgust for you. I start to run. I run past my ex-coworkers, I run past a woman with her kids, I run past another elderly lady, I run past my lung capacity. I run past my ability to breathe. I run past consciousness. 

Everything is fuzzy. Just kidding, everything is clear now.

“Honey!”

“Welcome back Ms. Frae, you've been out for about an hour trying to recover from what you did to your lungs.”

My wife comes closer to my face, trying to pull my eyes open wider, kissing the top of my head repeatedly. 

“What happened?” I asked, still fairly groggy and confused. 

“As you probably know, you have weakened lungs due to your smoking addiction in the past and your asthma.”

“Uh-huh,”

“And you ran pretty far pretty fast, almost got three blocks down from the place you used to work.”

“Self fist bump,” I said, as I gave myself a fist bump

He rolled his eyes, “Your ex-boss came running after you because he knew you weren't in a good state of mind, but he couldn't keep up...”

“Seems about right,” no need to be snarky, he might have saved your life. I can snark all I want.

“...until you passed out.”

“Oh.”

“He called the ambulance and your wife and we all had a nice family gathering while you were waking up.”

“Oh.” Oh shit. This is why I don't talk to anyone. 

“Your boss said that you have been having some mood issues recently and we should force you into therapy by calling phycology. Before you panic, we can't legally do that but we can recommend it.”

“No thank you.”

“Honey, I really think you should,” 

She looked genuinely concerned. She was talking softly, life the way you would talk to a baby just waking up from a nap. My heart sunk. See, they are looking out for you. I am not weak. I know. Then why do you taunt me? I don't. 

“Stephanie?”

“Ms. Frae?”

She looked at me again, tears were welling up to make her beautiful hazel eyes glossy. I always loved her eyes. They are the perfect size, perfect shape, perfect color. I don't want to lose that.

“Yes. Yes, I'll go.”

“Good Ms. Frae, I will bring you there after you rest here for a bit longer.”

I look up at my wife. Cassie is just standing there looking back at me. I grab her hand and she squeezes mine in hers. 

“Thank you,” she whispers as I fall asleep again.”

Another dramatic hospital wake up again, except no drama and I'm just waking up. I sit up and ask the nurse where my wife is. He told me she was in the food court, so naturally I went there instead of listening to him telling me to wait for my doctor. Oh wonderful, they are getting food together, I guess I can't avoid him. I tried to turn around to find some fries, but she already spotted me.

“Steph! Steph!”

I just look around, pretending to not know where she is, but in the corner of my eye I see both her and my doctor speed walking towards me through the sea of people. It feels like we are all anchovies in a can in this place. 

“Ready to eat some food and then go get mental stability?” Cassie asked.

I rolled my eyes and smiled. I do love her sense of humor. As if I will ever be mentally stable. 

“I'll buy you anything you want.”

Ooooh, let’s get some watermelon. Stop talking. But you want some, I know, but I hate you. 

“Deal. Let’s get some tangerines.”

“Just tangerines?” she asked. 

“Just tangerines,” I smiled. I’m only doing this to freak her out a bit, to convince her I need therapy. There is no meaning behind tangerines. 

“Tangerines and then we’re off!”

She buys me seven tangerines, walks me up the stairwell to the psychology department where my doctor already booked me a two-hour appointment, and gives me a kiss.

“I will be in the waiting room when you're done.”

“Thank you,” I whisper as she doesn’t fall asleep because she is at the top of a stairwell. 

She is so nice, you are lucky to have her. If you keep talking about my wife I’ll hate her too. Don’t make me. 

I walk into the door and sit. I wait until a younger woman asks for a Mrs. Frae. I follow her nervously to a back room. 

“So, why are you here today Mrs. Frae?”

“Please, call me Steph.”

“Alright Steph,”

“I'm here because I can't get this voice out of my head,”

“Let’s get that sucker out then.”