control

She bit her lip and spat the blood onto the pavement.  It splashed dark red but she didn’t notice.  She was already seeing red.  The day had been trying.  The night before had been too short and everyone and everything seemed to be against her from the moment she opened her eyes.  The house had lost power at some point during the night and her alarm had failed to go off so she woke up late.  She’d raced to get ready only to find there wasn’t anything in the fridge she could grab for an easy breakfast.  Her stomach grumbled its protest but she didn’t have time to fix a real breakfast.  It would have to wait.  She’d gotten into her car only to remember and then see the glowing icon that meant she was nearly out of gas so she’d have to take the bus from the stop up the street, which was also late and full, so she’d had to stand which became nearly impossible as she was jostled by the sudden stops and starts and sharp turns the driver made navigating rush hour traffic.  Then, getting off at her stop she had collided with a man.  The contact had been accidental but it had been jarring enough that she’d bitten her lip.  Her mouth filled with blood, she spit it out and stepped over it.  She was late.  She didn’t even realize she had done it.

The morning did not define her, though.  Nor was it a reflection of who she generally was.  Normally, she was poised and precise.  And once she settled into her desk and got caught up on what she’d missed that morning she tried to regain a semblance of normalcy.  Her mind, however, kept running back over the events of the night before and all the issues from the morning.  Was she losing it?  Why had she agreed to stay out so late?  How had she not noticed the power go out?  Why had she let her fridge get empty?  Why had she let her gas tank also drop so low?  Why hadn’t she been steady on her feet on the bus or watched her step as she got off? None of that was like her…  She was too young for her mind to be slipping, wasn’t she?

Round and round her thoughts tumbled and then, in the middle of a delicate email on an important topic, her fingers froze, hovering over the keyboard.  Had she spit?  Had she actually spit blood onto the pavement right in front of her office?  She was so distraught by the idea that she actually stood up, ready to march back to the street and see if her blood was still sitting there, splattered and dried.  Then she sat back down with a little shake of her head and completed the email.

No.  Going to look for the blood was definitely something a crazy person would do.  She refused to be crazy.  She was far too poised and precise to let her sanity slip away.

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3 thoughts on “control

  1. She spat blood onto the pavement. The night before had been too short and everyone and everything seemed to be against her. The house had lost power during the night and her alarm had failed to go off. She’d raced to get ready only to find there wasn’t anything in the fridge. Her stomach grumbled its protest but she didn’t have time to fix that. The car had been out of gas, the bus stop full. On the bus, she’d been jostled by the sudden stops and starts and sharp turns the driver made navigating rush hour traffic. Then, getting off, she’d collided with a man. She’d bitten her lip, and her mouth had filled with blood. Late, delayed again, she’d spit it out – onto the pavement.

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