"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.