Another Fool at the Anxiety Exchange

She is tall and slender, a tango dancer, a beautiful and elegant Russian goddess. She calls me to invite us to a salon she is hosting. She says my wife and I are to be the “core invitees”. I have no immediate ideas as to what we can perform, but I determine to come up with something. She is pleased to receive my rsvp in such a timely manner as it alleviates her anxiety. She laughs excitedly, relieved we will attend.

A young busty Indian girl gets terminated from her position in the laboratory. She comes directly to me to relay her bad news. She sits in my office, face in her hands, her eyes flowing with tears. I assure her everything will be all right. The sun will shine tomorrow. She’s young, intelligent and a good person, I tell her. We shake hands and I request that she forward her resume to me so that I may alert others who may be looking to hire. Her tears subside and her smile shines through. I offer my hand a second time and she holds on to it a little longer as we say goodbye.

Talk of divorce confronts me in the evening. We are both sad and disillusioned. She wishes to look back and criticize; I wish to look forward and dream. We are messy in the present. Blame it on winter. Her tears drown me out and I see that I have failed the one person closest to me. She says she wants to fall in love with a musician. I am relieved that our house is not in flames (at least, not yet).

I wish Townes Van Zandt was here to teach us how to nobly wait around to die.

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