SPEECHLESS

I sit on my lumpy sofa with a glass Cabernet from Chile and my new laptop.

My body feels beat up with pieces of glass stuck into it.

I have made chicken breasts baked in onion soup with cut up yams, red onions and pieces of garlic in my new Crate & Barrel casserole dish.

I am doing laundry and straightening up! Cleaning up my apartment is huge.

To clean, to move things, to fold, to put away... my body throbs from overuse.

I shouldn't have gone to work today but work can be fun. An escape.

Sally and I talk about Mark Cohen the famed art collector in Greenwich. She's writing an article about him in ART magazine.

"I just read something about him in Details" I tell her.

Sally is great. I learn she is the middle child of nine catholic children.

I tell her, " I know about you big Catholic families. I grew up in Conn. You all stick together, unlike the isolated, depressive, fragile protestants. (my clan)

I catch handsome Jason stealing a look my way.

Dan, my cubicle neighbor, has been out until five this morning drinking vodka at a club in the east fifties, slept at his girlfriend's, got up at eight to help a friend move, took an hour nap and came to work hugely hungover with a poised twentyish smile on his tanned face. Young Dan is superman.

(I sometimes pondered (what it would feel like) to have a cranky aging body because my body has always felt so magically young. Springy and easy)

After lunch,

(however)

there is nonsense at work.

My pretend boss orders me into a conference room to dress me down for staying on the phone while he made an announcement.

(I was talking to my eighty year old mother about my "situation", my mother wants to pretend i have a foot problem. I STRESS to her that it is not JUST a foot problem. I am ruthless. I feel guilty. The conversation is intense and meandering.

My mother loses color in her voice when you pull out the bald facts. Like you're disregarding the rules of manners or you're accusing her of something.

So,

My pretend boss tells me it is disrespectful to talk on the phone when he is talking.

(I didn't hear him) and he's not really my boss.

Never the less, I am so outraged at this silly pomposity, I am speechless.
I can't make a sound with my vocal chords

I open my mouth, my throat closes up.

It might appear that I am having a heart attack.

Pretend Boss is frightened and concerned. Like he is not sure if he's supposed to administer the Heimlich maneuver.

But, I manage to eek out... "NO! I was talking to my mother. Any person in this office would not hang up on their mother to hear some announcement."

(these announcements are continues)

Pretend boss is worried that he looks powerless in front of me. (I think)

He suggests that next time I call from a conference room.

I nod okay and walk out with out saying a word.

I am so angry (and now surprised) at the immediate drama lodged in my throat, I can't concentrate.

I couldn't make words.

Pretend boss (to his credit) is worried about the exchange and (perhaps) ashamed of his posturing, and he stops by my cubicle and apologizes.

Flummoxed, I leave my iPhone at work.