Someone asked if I were at the DNC this week. I LOL’d. Yes I had the opportunity. And it’s in Philly. I love Philly. HYOOGE fan of Philly. Also, #imwithher.
But, life.
I might as well tell the story of Tuesday or whatever day it was that was not very fun this week. In very edited glory.
For context, let’s say I am a trained surgeon. Trained myself over a decade ago. Particularly skilled in patching up battle wounds and being calm during mass trauma.
Let’s say that I spent the last five years filing paperwork for those surgeons. Occasionally jumping in to do some stitches when I can’t find anyone. Occasionally being asked why I use blue ink instead of black in that paperwork.
Then let’s say the ambulance bay is suddenly full and the surgeon is on one of the beds and the best I can do is dial a friend for a lifeline.
So yeah, lunch? Not so much.
Also, I had plans to actually attend a DNC viewing party — I got invited to three of them in Delray, Boca and Braddock Beaches — but yeah. Not so much.
Somewhere around 7 p.m., I decide hey let’s go to Popeye’s. I have consumed no calories today. LIVE IT UP. SPICY CHICKEN AND RED BEANS FOR EVERYONE, BIATCH.
I get two large teas — unsweet for me, and sweet for mom — and go home for my own viewing party.
Note that I never buy myself a drink. Ever. I can only carry so much, and I will ALWAYS pick mom over me.
Just as I get to my front door, the drink carrier caves in. With one hand free, I can only save one drink. I pick Mom’s.
And thank God, really, because who wants a GALLON OF SUGAR outside their front door?
I think there were more no good, very bad things throughout the day. But those are the only ones I will type out loud.
Now I’m left with Jesus I wasn’t ready to be a surgeon again. I’d like to be but A LITTLE WARNING would have helped. And now I am living in utter terror of the next trauma to walk through the door.
Thank God for Cory Booker, Michelle Obama, Joe Biden and Barack Obama for saving that night and last night. Because of them, I have pride in my country and in my work and will try again today with a renewed swell of purpose in my heart.
I tell you, election season is my Olympics. At least one I can participate in. And I hope against hope that we will go for — and GET — the gold in November … and shatter that glass ceiling once and for all.