I spend seven days crawling through a claustrophobic Vicodin cave, while mingling menacing mites reproduce in my muddied pockets, slowly weighing me down.
The eighth day, I stand and turn my pockets inside out. The ninth day, I run five miles with an ecstatic dog. The sixteenth day, I receive my workwoman's compensation check.
While I fill out my deposit slip, I realize that this may be the closest I ever come to a paid vacation. A vacation where I do not drink a pina colada and sit on poolside wicker, swallowing up sunshine and bathing my body in SPF 80. But 18 sick days where I drink tap water and sit on the toilet seat, swallowing my Vitamin D capsules and bathing my 3rd degree burn in hydro peroxide.
The nineteenth day, I am a waitress again. I wear three overlapping band aids and my uniform. In the mid afternoon, I clock out and carefully shove my tips deep inside the empty pockets of my jeans. I do not go to the bank. I go home for a slice of banana bread and a nap.
The eighth day, I stand and turn my pockets inside out. The ninth day, I run five miles with an ecstatic dog. The sixteenth day, I receive my workwoman's compensation check.
While I fill out my deposit slip, I realize that this may be the closest I ever come to a paid vacation. A vacation where I do not drink a pina colada and sit on poolside wicker, swallowing up sunshine and bathing my body in SPF 80. But 18 sick days where I drink tap water and sit on the toilet seat, swallowing my Vitamin D capsules and bathing my 3rd degree burn in hydro peroxide.
The nineteenth day, I am a waitress again. I wear three overlapping band aids and my uniform. In the mid afternoon, I clock out and carefully shove my tips deep inside the empty pockets of my jeans. I do not go to the bank. I go home for a slice of banana bread and a nap.
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