My nose is red and bright from the tissue. I’m tired, physically tired, from the job, from the travel, from the yelling and screaming and talking and cajoling, from the teaching, from the grading, from the reading, and marking attendance, from the day.
And she tells me what to do.
“Sleep,” she says.
Yesterday she said this also, and it seemed to work wonders. But that was yesterday.
Today my voice is a baby, is a kid, is a whine and pout. “I don’t wanna” is the only argument I have against her power, “I have to finish writing this” or grading that, or painting this, or reading that.
“Excuses,” she says. The truth.
“Right after I finish this, then,” I say, a promise to myself. Right after I finish writing this blog.