really, more often it's just a hurried or hushed whimpering wimpy
fizzling out of whatever fire was smoldering towards it's own finish already.
awwww.
it's true.
over at the studio,
one of the receptionists quit,
and honestly,
nobody really even noticed.
(mostly because the other artists were all at home,
perfectly exemplifying that go-getter work ethic we all admire in them).
and that's a hard style.
plus,
quitting quietly, without witnesses,
especially when one's final weeks of work are subsequently proven to be
nearly identical to the ensuing weeks without you?
if you're here or gone,
you're providing practically the same amount of service?
well,
that's pretty much proof that it was no big deal.
at all.
dang.
no interruption of service,
no disruptive blowout,
just an attempt at nostalgia, for the second it took to form half a sentence,
and then a whole big sigh of relief,
and a slow walk right out the door.
i didn't even mention it at the time it happened.
and that's a referendum on relevance in itself.
however,
there were a couple other other end-of-term timestamps that sealed off yesterday, too.
yep.
that's what got me thinking about this again.
our other sometimes part-time makeup-and-high-heels, hole-pokin',
professionally-objectified female cohort/consort/giggler had her last day. too.
and again,
it sort of just ended.
no going away party.
no tearful farewells,
no nothin'.
just a big goodbye, and not even so much as an appearance by her employer.
damn.
that's a harder style, for sure.
the thing is,
that's the way it goes.
most of the time, there isn't even any real marking of the moment.
it's just all done, over and out,
and we all continue on our way to wherever we were already going,
to resume whatever we were already doing in the first place.
last night was no exception.
although,
the food was exceptional.
ha.
no big goodbyes,
no big deal.
nope.
the fryeburg fair is finally F*ing over.
those last few days?
yep.
those whimpering wimpy fizzling out fade-away dinnertime treks,
through traffic and biting temperatures,
really set the tone for the ignominious and nearly anonymous ending of
my show of commitment, attendance, and active participation.
ugh.
honestly,
i doubt my body could have endured too many more falafels.
i would've, of course,
but i'm still glad i don't have to.
neighbors,
the closest thing to a finale were the sandwiches i dominated
with my big dumb old face.
really.
check the hooked-up-because-packing-used-food-is-gross-type-teleport:
get that corn outta my face!!!
c'mon.
i love falafels!!!
even when they're trying to kill me, and i'm letting them.
uh-huh.
i doo-doo that commitment-style sh!t,
even when it's something sort of simple, and stupid.
everything is the blanket, even when it's something else, kids.
get with it.
and after i took down a gruesome twosome of beet-hummus and niblet jammers,
i was treated to a FREEBIE!
check the complementary-type teleport:
that's sweet.
movie checks were expended en masse to make sure i stayed on task and on target
all week long.
twenty five falafels were harmed during the creation of my fat guts,
and then, right at the end of the show,
and at the end of the night,
we all remembered one thing-
too much is the right amount.
yep.
that's where number twenty six really shone through, duders.
that's right.
at the end of another year of falafel fury in fryeburg, maine,
i got my understated goodbye,
and a parting gift, too, on the house.
nice.
-
i guess even a soft ending still means something,
at least,
it does if there's gratitude and appreciation hovering around the hummus an' that.
word up.
*
it's time to get back to work.
this little mini vacation i've taken,
despite working every single flippin' day,
just like always,
is over.
i gotta get right back into the bright-spotless blight of big business,
and bringing barbarian battle-beastliness to the big action of every single day.
what do you guys know about butt-ugly brouhaha brawling in the workplace?
oh.
well, i don't know that much about it either,
but this week,
we'll see if words can't incite deeds,
while i'm zipping and zapping and crap-chatting all the ding-dongs, dimwits, dingbats,
and dummies that the woodsly goodness can throw at me.
without falafels,
there is only fury,
and i guess i'll work through the withdrawals by dispensing a diffuse yet abusive,
effusive epic poem of worthy warrior words and deeds,
from my fire-spitting face out into the rupturing rapture of all the eardrums
i can double-bass blast into oblivion.
ha.
get it?
no?
i'm unleashing a lament of loud fresh hardness for all the fallen falafels
of every yesterday since forever ago.
yeah!
today is a day of rest for my guts,
but of toil, labor, and work for everything else.
it's all really happening,
and that's the whole point;
never quiet. never soft.....
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