The Art of Worthiness
Is it what we think it is?
She walks into the room. Everyone is looking at her. Questioning. She has no clue why but it can’t be anything good. It must be the way she looks. Perhaps her dress looks strange on her. Her hair…either way, she can’t take it, so she does the first face saving thing that comes to mind. Paste a big smile on and push herself back against the corner of the wall. As far as she can. Is she invisible yet? She would gladly disappear if a hole big enough would open and swallow her but it’s not forthcoming. She feels exposed. Too square and grey in a room filled with round, colourful entities. She wants to be seen yet at the same time, detests being seen. Here she is though. In a room full of people conversing and obviously at ease. If she has to be here and seen, then she should be seen to be something. Something in, something that fits, not an awkward, lost piece to some puzzle. She finally gathers enough courage. Pushes off the wall. Her gaze fastens on one, familiar face. She squares her shoulders, sidles closer. She makes the usual comments while smiling like life couldn’t get any better. Can it? She might be a misfit but she’s a misfit in a room full of queens and kings.
He sits at a table with a good friend. They’re at a restaurant. A fine and expensive one suggested by his wealthy friend. It is a Sunday night. A costly, half-empty bottle of wine sits between them on top of the table. Next to the glasses. This is their second, wait, their third bottle of wine. He’s laughing loud now. He keeps rubbing his blurry eyes. He can’t see, let alone, talk without slurring now. Regardless, he’s over the moon. Elated. In a way that only the sour-induced fumes of fermented grapes can make someone feel. Like nothing can possibly go wrong. His friend says something, he has this sudden urge to whoop. It’s a good day today, who cares about tomorrow? Not him. He can feel a headache coming. He’s just spent his last money for the month on the wine but so…what? One has to experience the fine things in life, at least once or twice. He can’t always live his life as if in a cave. He has to mingle. To be the best, you need to mix with the best, right? Uurgh! He has an early appointment tomorrow. An interview. Never mind. Last glass. He’ll just have to sleep it off, wait…his friend is pouring the last of the wine into his glass. Filling it to the brim. His hand is already up, signalling for more. More wine, more liberated mind. Hmmm, more hangover too. He should go. At least say no but what the hell? What’s a bottle of wine between friends, right?
She wakes up. She’s tired. She’d rather go back to sleep but then she’s a mother. A wife. A woman. She’s a doer. Besides, there is the long list she created last night. It’s too goddamn long but then, she doesn’t know how to exist without it. It’s her beacon of light. It doesn’t just tell her what to do, at the end of a crazy day and every single item on the sheet of paper is ticked, she can appreciate what a hard worker she is. Only then, does she know she’s useful. That she’s worthy of each breath she expels. She can’t do without it. Gritting her teeth, she gets off the bed. The thin, two sheets of paper are waiting for her on the side of the bed. She glances at them. Her whole body feels heavy, but she picks it up anyway. Heavy sigh, she goes through it. It’s Friday today. She can’t miss anything. Here it goes. Wake up. Give daughter and son a bath. Make their lunch. Get them into the car and take them to school. Come back. Clean up and tidy the house. Put a load in the washing machine. Make hubby his food. Finally, work. Start with the unanswered e-mails first. If she’s fast enough, she can start on the new project. Oh. Talk to the boss. Find out if he’s happy with her submission last week. Get the kids from school. Give them a snack before she starts to prepare to prepare dinner. Feed everyone. Make sure they enjoy it. Night-time baths! Put kids to bed. Then listen to hubby detailing his day while wondering if he’s happy? What a day! She’ll go to sleep then. But not without preparing another list. Whew! A new day, another fight for relevance.
