Did I Say This Is A Pathetic Christmas?

Her eyes were red, moist crimson to be more exact, which by Deidrah Barker’s standards indicates at least twenty minutes of steady crying, or twenty minutes of recovering from tear gas. The skin around her nose was raw and freshly chaffed, pores exposed, on the precipice of premature gin blossoms. It’s worth the extra twenty to seventy cents to go Kleenex® or Puffs®, after all, YOLO.


Spending the week of Thanksgiving in a coma was a major setback. Her priorities were all kinds of messed up. Monday seemed like Thursday, and Thursday seemed like a week. This was certain, removing one major touchstone really messes with your mental state. Your sense of time and space evaporates like a glass of water. It should also be noted, not enough people know when to shut the fuck up. She had to remind herself that today was Christmas and she was in the office grabbing some of that overtime pay. Hospital bills don’t pay themselves.

Her doctor told her that she needed to think outside of the box. Make your horizon your waking hours. Unfortunately, the overqualified surgeon did not have a firm grasp of the English language. What he really meant to say was, “When you are awake, please remain horizontal.” This is further proof that Pakistani humor does not translate well to English, and vice versa. The following English joke is proof that humor is not international: A horse walks into a bar. The bartender says, “Hey, why the long face?”

Deidrah resumed sobbing as she looked around the empty office. For the first time this morning, the good questions arose. “Do I really have a job?” “Is this loneliness?” “Am I usually this sad?” Selective amnesia is a sad affliction.

empty office.jpeg

Deidrah should have known.

Horizon

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