It was a dream. We were all on a giant table, God somewhere at the throne, the angels flitting around. This is life, this is us living on earth, I realized looking around. No one else seemed to know I know. We were all holding hands, one hand on my mother, one hand in my fathers. 

Suddenly, an explosion. No. An expected earthquake. No one worried, but such controlled upheaval in such a small specific section of our benches, only us getting tossed hither skither, landing down. I'm holding Z. He doesn't look like himself, but I know it's him. I will always know him, his black and brown turd-like soul. 

The upheaval is coming again, and I'm.. conscious.. through it? spun around, knowing that i need to grab someone else. I reach through the abyss for Z. We land, and the angels are shocked. One slaps the elbow of another and tells it to look at me. What i've done. A crowd gathers, they don't see this often. I've grabbed Z with both hands. He is holding two other people, back to me, no longer looking. I chose him. I always chose him. Always, forever, that undeserving fucker.

This is what I chose. Holding on to someone who I wasn't supposed to. A life of loneliness. 

Getting Bumbled

Supposed to Zoom, he's out for a burger. 90 minutes later, I'm in my pajamas and reclining in bed, watching a movie. 

"You decent?"

Shit I guess I'm not, I sleep in girl-boxers and a tank. I grab a dupatta and text back "link?" and minutes later we're connected. 

God, he's cute. I've never kissed anyone with a beard. You idiot, you've only kissed one man. I can't but imagine what he'd feel like - good? scratchy? Would it help or hurt if he went down on me? My inner thighs twitch at the thought.

We're joking about the dupatta and talking about the party i went to last night, when I reach behind me to grab my green tea. One hand on the tea, one hand on the dupatta, the laptop shaky on the bed, I almost spill it. I'm trying to do damage control when I hear a squawk. 

Glance back, but my cup wobbles on the plate and i have to drop the dupatta to just steady it with both hands. Why is he looking poleaxed? I look down and I've lifted my leg to reach the bedside table behind me, and my knee is poking out. Shit he thinks I'm not wearing pants 

with horror I realize what things might look like from his perspective. Random stranger he's met on a dating app. Video calling him at midnight. Wearing scanty / no clothes. 

fuck

Should I acknowledge it? My brain automatically goes to humor, but I just simply cannot come up with anything funny about being naked. Point it out and deny it? That would just make it seem like I'm protesting too much. So I do the only things I can do - ignore it happened.

I turn around "cup got wobbly" i say mildly, he's still a little slack jawed. "so anyway, I escaped by 1 am eventually. How was your evening"

I see his jaw tick as he processes the question, and then his brow furrows and he takes a breath and then mentally shrugs and answers the question. 

For the rest of the conversation all I can think about is how to pretend to be as non-sexy as possible, and by the house he's relaxed and seems to be wondering if he imagined it.

I feel SO bad for judging shirt-less dude now.

 "I'm sorry I apologize I blah blah blah..."

I can't suppress the eye roll. Eye rolls don't have the same satisfaction they did in my teens - middle-aged post-40 eye rolls seem to be an infuriating lapse in judgment. Oof so sick of his social awkwardness. Yes, he's political royalty. But far away enough from the disgusting, rotting, corrupt Pakistani oligarchs that are repulsive in their sycophantic requirements to just have the prestige of the name and the attractiveness of old money, without any of the gross-ness. But there is a reason why people - me included - are single at 40. He clearly lacked the social skills that allow positive human interaction, and after 10 years of semi-friend meet-ups on the edge of romantic interest, I'm honestly sick of it. Goodbye, I wish you overcome your issues dude.  

I power on my laptop, saying a silent prayer to ward off brain fog. Dear Allah, let my work be productive, and over quick. The mindfulness coach's voice comes back to me, we were in the forest somewhere focusing on a fucking cookie rituals are important. they lend weight and meaning to mudance tasks and give us purpose. Take a bite of the cookie. feel it's weight. what does it smell like. what does the smell remind you of?

What fucking purpose. Make money to spend money. you can never make enough money, just like you can never have enough nice clothes, or bags, or shoes. And someone else always fucking had more, more of something better. Private planes to my business class. Gratitude! Gratitude is the only antidote to ennui.

I was grateful for... having my parents. God they annoy me, but God I'm grateful they're here. I can feel  the invisible weight of time, grains of sand in an hour glass running running running. 

"You get to make tea for your mother. See her. Every day" he had said, his eyes wide, crows feet so prominent now, his hair bleached silver from black in the last ten years I had known him. Work relationships were so strange, you knew them so well in ways their families never could, yet didn't know them at all. His white-knuckled hands had gripped his notepad. I hadn't ever seen him lose his composure before then, ever, and in those four words, I saw many long long nights of grief. Sitting across the conference table I had felt nothing but complete, alien shame at my thoughtless comment about my living situation. How old was he really? How many years ago must he have lost his mother? Was she young? But I quickly dismissed that thought. I'd learned that a long fulfilling life to old age and a graceful death did nothing to ease the burden of those left behind.  

What would it be like to live after they die? To survive, truly alone. I had never thought of their mortality before that conversation with the board chair. They were. Always. An invisible safety net. A prayer. An inexhaustible pool of funds to help me in my time of need. Her prayers for my good fortune, being saved from a near side swipe from a car, or construction material falling 5 feet from me. Negating illwinds with prayers. falahu khairun hafizun wahuwa rahimurrahimeen. Someone who could come pick me up from the side of the road when my car broke down and deal with the mechanic when I had a meeting to go to. People who didn't always know what to do, but who made me believe again that human beings could be good, sincere, when life had told me nothing but otherwise. Shelter from the storm that had flayed me to the bone. 

Man is made ungrateful.

My emails open in under 5 seconds, and I say another prayer of gratitude to SSDs and $2000 laptops. In one lifetime, going from 20 minute bootup and dialup to connecting to 15 people around the world in under 10 seconds.  

Tsk. The child hasn't emailed me. I can't think of him as anything else. My first love, the first baby in the family that had cried himself purple and then reached out to twine his little hands painfully in my hair while firmly grabbing my heart in the process. Seventeen now. Genius IQ like his mom and ahem khala, but dear God being a pre-college teenager was like being drunk, high, and deaf & mute simultaneously. Why hasn't he emailed the update! 

"Tell child to email me" I message his mother

"He didn't do it yesterday?!" my sister responds. 

"Nope" I know we are both mentally face-palming right now.

It's been a month of a mercy internship, because he hadn't applied to any "real" places, because of course my startup wasn't considered real by anyone in the family. Awards from an IVY league university, media coverage in all major news channels, talk show features, 700 fucking customers in one year, but apparently Asma getting married post-35 post 3 kids was more of an accomplishment of course. Shit I do wonder how the fuck anyone meets anyone anymore. The apps were full of disgusting gross post-40 assholes looking to cheat on their wives with no shame. Youth gave me hope though. Earnest boys & girls, real, honest about wanting to hookup, or loudly declaring their kinks on their profiles. That kid I accidentally spoke to before understanding how age filters worked was probably the most refreshing conversation, even if embarrassing because I hadn't heard the word MILF till he said it and I googled it and then horror-stricken asked him his age. Stabbing end match in terror, and then randomly laughed about it for a full week later.  God, Mr. famous last name and I had laughed about it together. 

Oof. I notice the emails at 2AM and 4AM. Don't do it kids, it's not worth it. 8 years working was apparently not sufficient in getting disciplined about remote working deadlines. When did I get disciplined? Shit it was after R started school, that was, what, 13 years in? I should start flagging things earlier, maybe break down the tasks for them if they're not doing it themselves. 

I read the ops update, and nothing, I mean nothing irritates me more than poor comymunication. Why do I not have a fucking update after reading a fucking update email. I briefly consider pausing before making the call. Should I cool down? No, this annoyance deserves to be communicated, she is too dense. I buzz the staff to get me some caffeine, an old habit from a time of mahogany desks in fancy buildings with floor-to-ceiling windows with city views. Check the time, it's 11AM and it's borderline she'll be up if she slept at 4AM. Yuck what a terrible sleep cycle I shudder. My back twinges in pain just thinking about sleeping 8 hours again. After 6 rings she picks up. Yes I don't hang up, I'm annoyed. 

"Hello Y, how are you" I respond, to her mumbled incoherant clearly just woken up hello. Jfc at least pretend to be awake at midday.

"I was asleep" she says, and I physically wince. wtf is wrong with kids these days. 

"Ok, it's 11 AM, so I thought it would be ok to call" Since you know, our hours are fucking 9 to fucking 5. 

"Anyway, I was wondering if you had emailed S and what he had said about the proposed collaboration?" Dear God I let this idiot girl fuck up this deal didn't i. 

"I emailed you" she says a  little accusingly, and I'm proud of her tone. Go, stand up for yourself girl, don't bottle it in. 

"Actually yes, I read the email and it said the conversation is 'done', but I still don't understand what was said in the conversation, and what the proposed deal is. Is it a collaboration in-school or after school? What are your next steps?" Which you know is a BIG fucking distinction

"Oh"

I inhale, and pray to God for patience. 5 years ago I would have fired her. 8 years ago she wouldn't even have been hired. Maintain silence. Three beats. 

 "Yes he said he was interested in both, and the books. I suggested a pilot for after-school starting next term, but I'll be sending the complete project proposal to you today for review." 

Thank you for reminding me why I hired you, and why gross unprofessionalism doesn't mean incompetance. My professional standards were "old school", expecting people to you-know, turn up to work at 9AM. God we used to get fined if we didn't punch in at 830AM, those bastards. 

"Ok great work! Please do mention these things in your communication next time, would save us the call" I insert enough emphasis to embarrass.

"Yes! Sorry! Will do" she says after a beat, in a small voice. Sitting up straigher I imagine. 

"And you know I'm going to say this, you shouldn't work late, you'll burn out" 

"Yes ma'am" I can feel her echoing my grin before we close. 

Kids. 

Bumbling around

"Hi - am I audible?" The fucking phrase of the pandemic. The second I hear his voice, I realize it's real. Shit I'm not ready for this. I get this sick twist of greasy fear in my gut. What the fuck am I doing.

"Yes, yes I can hear you. This has to be the most used phrase in the last two years haha!" Holy shit he's not wearing a shirt. Who the fuck video calls without a shirt!

"I hope you don't mind I'm was about to sleep, had a long day" he gestures to his abs and gives what I'm sure he thinks is a panty-incinerating smirk, except he doesn't quite know I'm pretty immune to cocky smiles. Been there done that my friend, panty dropping smiles lead to sex to marriage to baby and a divorce and I've had a decade of single momming to get over that shit. That would probably work on the younger girls that use this app. Shit I could never compete with 20 yr old waistlines. 

"Yeah I'm pretty beat myself. Had fucking meetings till 10pm" Bastards couldn't have scheduled something earlier in their day to accomodate our time zone. Dear lord he's making bedroom eyes at me. 

"Maybe you need to have some fun to help you relax" What the fuck is wrong with this dude. 

"Haha what can you offer" You're some fucking rando off the internet dude. Can you chill the fuck out.

It's my fault. Momentary horniness / PMS led to downloading that fucking online dating app, and that has led to this. Serves me right, what the fuck was I expecting? Witty repartee? A conversation about work? Or - God forbid - small talk about the weather?

And then suddenly - "Mama I'm not feeling ...BHYWAAHRKK" Holy shit baby R has turned up behind me and projectile vomits three-hour-old half-digested pepporoni pizza. He aims away from the carpet to the wood floor Good boy! 

I grab him by the shoulders and aim him towards the bathroom, right before the second "BHYWAAHRKK" as his little body retches. I've already turned and grabbed two wet wipes stored on the counter for just such occasions, and get to the mess before it festers. Shit where are the newspapers when you need them. I grab my sanitary pad, and mop up the liquidy goop, and shove it all into the bathroom bin just in time for the third BHYWAAHRKK 

"There there baby, you'll be ok." I try to sound reassuring, patting R with my left hand while my right reaches for the dettol surface cleaner behind him. I frantically spritz the bedroom floor and throw some tissues and wipe the floor with my foot, turning to get a better look as R heaves for the fourth - and usually final - time. 

Phew. all done. R and I wash our hands, and he lets me blow his nose and wash his face without complaint. 

Somewhere between tucking R back in to bed, installing a vomit bucket within close distance, and getting ice cubes for hydration, I suddenly remember. R - despite being miserable - turns and looks at me wondering why I'm shrieking with laughter, standing in the middle of semi-dark room. 

Something something part 2

 PART 1 CAN BE FOUND HERE: http://nakedfeet.blogspot.com/2018/06/something-something.html

You motherfucking moron.

I watch her drive away, and want to fucking kick myself for being the fucking idiot asshole I am. Why couldn't I just fucking open my mouth and fucking tell her.

I fucking love you. I'm only dating Sarah because I don't give a shit about her. There is a glimmer of a shadow of a hope you look at me and I'll drop her like the space filler she is.

I see her turn back and look at me from the back windshield. I know she's probably wondering what I was going to say to her, probably thinking I'm going to defend Sarah or some shit like that.

Speak of the devil.

I smell her a full minute before she reaches me. Perfume, sweat, and a desparation to get out of her gilded cage. I'm under no illusion I'm a convenient fuck so she can avoid a life she hates.

"I think I'm going to head back home early" I gesture to the valet to give me my keys, I had palmed him a thousand rupees so he would park close up and not make me wait. I look over, but Sarah's eyes are already back on the dance floor inside. I catch her eye roll though.

"You're so boring Fadi" she whines, and I swear I can feel my fingers curling to block out that sound from my ears.

She's already turned around and gone back in by the time I've closed the car door.

Why the fuck do I go to these things. Thank fuck it's done.