better turn out good

robyn turned six months last thursday, may 1. and that marks a milestone not every infant will experience: she has grown enough to be subjected to the next phase in a series of corrective procedures. and i have been gnawing at my nails, shaking my hands as if a violent convulsion is taking over them, and mercilessly twisting a variety of inanimate pliant objects, all in rapid succession.

i have spoken to a few people about this.

daily, i am required to look like i belong to our stores. personal style. it’s even part of performance appraisal. but management knows that under my circumstances i would never shell out a cent on unnecessaries. i pointed that out, stressed it with a vigor that could only stem from a conviction of futility of further effort. my priorities are clear, i said. so one day, with severe instructions to keep it under shrouds, they bring me two bagfuls of outfits. i was moved to semi-tears.

i have spoken to a few more people about this.

it’s too soon to tell how this will turn out, but my hopes have been revived.

the next few days are dipped in feverish expectation. i should not be frustrated. it will break my heart if things don’t turn out the way i picture them. the desolation will kill me outright. the municipal government would have to scrape me off the pavement.


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