I can no longer hide the cracks on the surface. It takes tremendous effort to stop the tears that are now flowing at the slightest provocation. The idea of fasting, after days of binge eating, is suddenly very appealing.
I wish I could just let go and let it all come crashing down. A part of me very much wants to relinquish control and unleash the crazy. Maybe I could start running up and down the aisle, screaming at the top of my lungs and punching cubicle walls left and right as I pass. Maybe I could lie on the floor in the middle of one of the corridors that connect our buildings, and tell whoever asks that it's performance art. Maybe I could improvise a song and dance number at the top of the stairs, regale the cube prairie dogs on the first floor with a story they will be able to tell for years to come. Maybe I could go to the cafeteria, climb on top of a table and start reciting Río Grande de Loíza by Julia de Burgos. Then sit and wait until they come to take me away to the loony bin.
Maybe I could just get up and leave with no advance notice, and never come back. Flush eleven years down the drain. I am very tempted to do this.
Instead, I call our employee assistance program and get a referral to see a therapist on Saturday. Then I write this post. No song and dance numbers for me, thanks.
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