The cashier is screaming at me.
She can’t see the tears streaming down my face, or she might stop.
“You idiot! My time is more significant than yours and apparently I’m a lot smarter too.”
She has a job, she’s doing something productive with the minutes of her day.
She counts for something to someone.
I feel stupid, and insignificant.
A pretty shelf decoration, unneeded, unless on rare occasion
I’m strong enough to hold up someone’s book of knowledge.
Maybe I’m not even that pretty.
My mind starts screaming at me.
Your blinds have no excuse to be dusty –
That’s the most important, only responsibility you have and you can’t even do that.
Why in the world is there a dust spot from dissolved snow on your floor,
what else do you have to do?
Are you stupid? Or maybe you’re tired, though I have no idea why –
What taxed your energy? Oh, I forget, you work out, whew, don’t work that brain too hard.
P.S. Enjoy this post by an author that I enjoy! Peach Friedman: Wistful