Essence of Fiona
Tonight I had dinner with a friend who wanted to talk to me about how reading my post of 10/8 (In the Moon Hut) had influenced her. She had been having a seizure of worry brought on by an unauthorized act of compassion that she indulged in at work. A co-worker suffering from a debilitating illness needed papers signed to get disability insurance. She OK'd it even though she knew she should ask higher up -- I think because she knew that the higher-ups wouldn't OK it. She expressed to me that the callousness of the higher-ups in her company towards their workers was not really acceptable to her. I felt the pain. I said how glad I am to be separated from that kind of environment, even though I have no financial security... no health insurance, etc. I may crash and burn, but I'll do so having had some peace and damn quiet professionally. How I hate the brutality of the corporate workplace.
Anyway, as much as I sit here and pound away passionately on the keys, I never know who's out there reading what I've sweated over, or even suspect that my rantings could possibly help anyone else. Just glad for the happy surprise. Kind of like winning that accordion trophy for playing so badly.
So I came home from that conversation with a margarita in me and wrote that mad poem, below, and then I took a look back over what I've been offering all the poor unsuspecting readers out there and decided it would be fun to post for you only the last sentences of all the current entries. Random slices of ruminations a la Fi-Fi. Kind of like a surrealist parlour game. Exquisite corpse. Essence of Fiona.
Help.
Have a wonderful day!
I have to stay in my townhouse all day, but I don't have to stay in the Moon Hut.
Bush's foreign policy and especially his pre-emptive strike doctrine is going to bring a lot of big ugly mutated chickens home to roost.
The he-man turns pussycat and curls up in their lap.
It's interesting that I'm not more warped as a result, but I guess that is a relative perspective.
I'm going to pretend I'm her for the afternoon.
They all have sparkly eyes.
Turnabout's fair play!
Every once in a while she comes out to make some royal pronouncement, presumably from the Undisclosed Location, where I suspect that she may be running a top secret Stepford Wives cloning laboratory.
9:44:27 PM
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