11/12/13 -- I've been played

So...I think I've been played.  By Bess.  She lost a tooth on Sunday night...asked me where to put it and I told her on the counter in my bathroom.  She came back to tell me she found her "tooth" case that comes from school when the kids lose teeth during the day.  She told me 4 teeth were already in it....okay so this one must have come from the dentist office....and she was going to add the 5th tooth and put it under her pillow.  Now...honestly....I've been a terrible tooth fairy.  Abysmal.  But mostly I've gotten away with it because my girls would forget about their lost teeth come bedtime....but not this time.  But hey...she's 11 and in 6th grade.  But Monday morning, I got the sad little girl routine.  Broke this momma's heart.  I told her --- you know it was really windy last night.  Maybe the tooth fairy got blown off course.  So last night...she placed the teeth under her pillow again....and then when she couldn't sleep and Bill let her come downstairs -- she came tooth holder in hand -- and under the pillow it went...and after she was asleep....the exchange was made.  So this morning, she woke to $5 under the pillow.  And now I'm getting the feeling I was played.  

Morning routine

He wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror.  An automatic gesture using his right hand, wiping left to right. Next he looked down into the bisque cup, quickly stirred the shaving lather and applied the cream with practiced movements with the badger hair brush.  He set the cup down and picked up the silver blade.  Screetch. Flick.  Screetch. Flick.  The straight edge making clean rows in the white foam.

Each part of the routine followed exactly just as Papaw Joe had done each morning.  His earliest memory from childhood was pushing open the door to the bathroom, early morning sunshine making the white porcelain fixtures glow, climbing up on to the toilet seat to sit and watch his Papaw Joe start his day.

Papaw Joe seemed like such a big man.  Indestructible, constant and sober.

For over 50 years, Proraso products have provided the pleasure of a smooth, perfect shave, like you would enjoy from your trusted barber. Formulated with a traditional combination of eucalyptus oil, menthol, and glycerin, Proraso Shaving Cream moisturizes and protects the skin for a smooth, comfortable shave.
Witch hazel and bay rum are nice - aftershave. 

What's in the envelope?

The color drained from his face as he scanned the piece of paper in his hand.  The cryptic message sent a chill down his spine. Why now?  Just when everything was falling into place.  And now on the eve of his triumph....war.

Jenny -- Access denied

Jenny leaned sideways out of her chair to eavesdrop on her co-worker Miranda's conversation with their boss, Celeste.  Jenny was pretty sure Miranda was some sort of superhero, there was very little Miranda couldn't do well.  Although she had been out sick the last few days.  Well, even heroes had at least one tiny flaw.

"Celeste, I can't seem to access the secure disk," Miranda was saying.  "Did you happen to change my access?"

"Well no," replied Celeste.  "The IT guys have been here working on my computer but they weren't supposed to change any of the settings."

"Hugo doesn't have access either," Miranda reported.

"That is so odd." 

The secure disk contained all the office's sensitive and confidential files.  Jenny had access for a while.  She'd had to retrieve several files for Celeste while Hugo was on vacation and Miranda had been at lunch.  Jenny had been somewhat smug because Celeste had not turned off her access.  Maybe she was finally going to be a full-fledged member of the team.  Of course, Jenny knew it was really only because Celeste had forgotten to change her restricted status.  The other day, Jenny had eagerly offered to get a file for Celeste while Miranda was sick and suddenly her access was restricted again.  Jenny had just vented last night to her roommate about how petty Celeste could be, it hurt a little to still feel like an outsider.  Jenny shrunk a little in her chair feeling guilty.  Maybe it wasn't Celeste being petty.  Jenny shouldn't have been so quick to jump to conclusions.  

Miranda called out from her desk, "Never mind, Celeste I can see the disk now."

Jenny quickly typed out the access information for the drive.  Would it be there for her too?

Hard habit to break

I have been in a rut....my last two paragraphs or character sketches have been focused on women battling themselves and their brokenness....this is not necessarily bad...but I'm struggling to break away from the sadness and grief I'm feeling, that is being reflected in my sketches.  Eek....I need to figure out what is breaking my heart.

Sneakers

Gwen paused as she was putting on her running shoes.  With a deep breath, she admitted to herself what she'd been feeling for the last few weeks.  She was lonely.  Surrounded by crowds, there was no one with whom she was intimate.  No she didn't mean physically.  Gwen meant someone she could tell her deepest secrets, her hurts, her dreams.  She felt dry, isolated and sad.  During the last week, Gwen had slipped away from her desk to cry in the bathroom.  There wasn't even always a trigger, but silently the tears would roll down her cheeks.  Filled to the brim, her eyes overflowed.  But as quickly as the blues came on, the wave of sorrow passed as Gwen gave herself a good mental shake.

"Enough," she told herself.  "You have too much to be thankful for to sit and wallow."

Wiping her nose on the tissue she kept in her running jacket, Gwen replaced the tissue and finished lacing up her shoes.

"Nothing a little run won't straighten out," she thought.

Sal

Sal couldn't seem to help herself.  She was caught in a vicious cycle of misery and anger.  She was tired, frustrated and just plain pissed off.  And the real stinker was the person with whom she was most angry was her!  How is that fair?  It wasn't.  Sal kicked one of her slippers across the room.

Why was everyone on her last nerve....or was Sal on her last nerve because everyone else was so stupid.  Take Lisa for example.  The girl claimed to be one of Sal's truest and dearest friends.  You caught that right?  Lisa was the one who gave herself the honor.  Typical.  Lisa loved dominating conversations generously sprinkling it with industry slang from her job at the insurance agency...just so someone would ask her what the hell she was talking about.  As if that wasn't manipulative. And lately, Lisa had started making snide comments about Sal's outfits, the state of the papers on her desk, and even took issue with how often Sal rotated the plants on her office window sill.  Seriously?  Sal knew all the nitpicking to make it seem that Sal was incompetent and needed Lisa to come to her rescue.  Well dang it...Sal was tired of it.

Sal blew out a big breath....and ran her hand through her hair.  Time for the shame spiral.  Sal knew that Lisa was immensely insecure.  That's what drove her behaviors.  Her husband had dumped her two years ago, leaving her alone and feeling unloved.  Everything she did was to show she was necessary and important.  Couldn't Sal just allow her that vulnerability.  Couldn't Sal just show a little mercy and grace....especially since Sal knew she wasn't perfect and struggled with her own self-doubt.

"Ah, crap.  Why the frack do I do this to myself," sighed Sal.  She felt totally mired in this muck.  Why couldn't she forgive Lisa for her annoying habits.  Why couldn't she just chalk them up and let Lisa's good traits outweigh the tick-ity tacky stuff.  On the other hand, Sal silently argued with herself....why was it okay for her to be Lisa's doormat?   WHAP!  The other slipper flew across the room hitting the wall.

"Am I the only person who feels this way?" shouted Sal at the wall.  She felt so alone.  Why she spending so much time on this?  Why couldn't she shake it.  And yet, when things that annoyed her or frankly insulted her happened, she always seemed to be caught flat-footed.  No response ready, not able to put a stop to the crap in way that didn't escalate the situation or worse make Sal feel like a complete nincompoop 5 minutes later.

Finally, exhausted from her pacing and ranting, Sal dropped to the couch.  "God," she pleaded, "help me.  This is just too hard.  I'm failing myself and I'm failing You.  Help me."

Silence.

And then her tears started to fall.