novel piece.. from today’s 3 pages

…Funny he should mention contracts, you mean my ADJUNCT contract? The one that keeps me indentured and comes with it no healthcare or job security or preference of assignment? Oh yeah that one… Fuck ‘em. I watch Lila look out the window and wonder what she’s tinkering with in that head of hers and if she’s thinking about tending bar and what she sees and what she’s TO see if she goes in. Work.. what it does to someone, how they react and how so many dread it.. I’ve always found that interesting, but my sister loves what she does for the most part, why can’t we all have that? WORK.. like a bad word to some and so many. How do I see work? Don’t know yet. I think that’s what I’m trying to build, some kind of understanding, of what it is and what I truly want.
“Sorry to be like that, but…” she follows.
“Do you see a lot of people that hate their jobs?” I ask, wiping some crumbs from the table, something about the way they scatter in different roads from each other when they hit the ground fascinates me. Hope I don’t miss her answer.
“Oh… that’s always the topic, always, and I write a lot of it down.”
“That’s good. I try to also, when I can, but sometimes at this new winery we get so busy, especially on Saturdays, oh my god, yesterday was craziness all over and over..”
“Last night for me, too,” she says, looking again out the window.
“You okay?” I have to ask.
“I’m thinking about going back to school.”
“Really? For what?”
“A PhD. Somewhere.”
Is she kidding, I think to myself, just when I give up on the notion she has to throw this in my face, and not that she’s THROWING it in my face but certainly presenting it with a suspicious metaphysical modality…

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mikemadigan

Writer/Blogger - bottledaux.com

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