...with fingers crossed for everything you do

i had been bugging dr d for weeks. ever since i noticed the twin "vw" (as in volkswagen) buttons he had on his corkboard in his office.

"you've got two, n my corkboard in x-ray is barren."

incessantly, almost on a daily basis. man, dr d was a laid-back guy who managed to put up with a lot of shit from me.

time passed. i bugged him occasionally about the buttons, but it never really was a big deal.

eventually, i forgot about it.

then i was having one of those days. the days when it's the little things that kill. when the morning starts off with something stupid and annoying, and then moronic coworkers exacerbate the situation, and then you get a short lunch because someone else was lazy, and an unusual amount of extra patients come in and you are the one expected to get them all situated. the kind of day where i joke about ropes or razor blades. the kind of day where my eyes sag.

by three in the afternoon, i feel the unshed tears of aggravation and frustration fighting their burning way to the surface, and i go to hide out in the x-ray exposure room. this room was perfect for this purpose, as it had a regular door instead of the revolving door most x-ray rooms have. so i can shut the door, lock it, turn off the light, and anyone that might need me would have to knock so as not to unexpectedly expose x-ray film to light and render any films i might've taken useless and subsequently face my justified wrath. and after the knock, i can say "gimme five minutes" and make sure i have washed the tears away and look normal when i come back out.

i shut the door slowly. flick the lightswitch down. sit in the beat up discarded computer chair that serves as my office chair (this little five by eight room being the closest i have ever come to my own office in my entire air force career, and i get to share it with two developing machines, a counter where i keep extra films and cleaning supplies, and a sink).

i cry. i let all the frustration out in little streams down my cheeks. i hang my head and see teardops falling, glinting red in the subdued exposure room lights.

i do what needs to be done, and decide i better clean up before someone realizes i have been in here with the door shut for awhile.

as i rinse my face in the sink, i look up. on the bottom of my corkboard, oddly-colored in the red lights, a single "vw" pin is tacked into place.

i cry more, but not from frustration this time.

the other day, when i hit the cat, as i was still feeling wracked with grief and guilt, i got a text from j, my buddy from autocad classes:

what kind of coffee u want? at panera

it seems that invariably when i feel lowest, some show of support and love appears unexpected.

truly, i am one of the luckiest motherfuckers ever to tread.

darth sardonic