I have loads of separation anxiety. When it's time to go, I have trouble going. I am talking of an affair I had with a hunk these past eight weeks. Fabulous. Unplanned. Passionate. I was high. Events flew faster than the speed of light. And it brought me back to where I was before the affair began just as fast. I held on for as long as I could. As the computer scanned my finger for my presence at work this morning, I wanted to scream 'I don't want you to go!' at him. But there's a time for everything and it was time to say goodbye to this hunk.
So I store those sneakers and flipflops back to the drawers and look at pairs of high heels with indecisiveness and contempt. Disliking high-heeled shoes is as uncharacteristic of me as see what love can do is so cliche. I move past sunblock towards make-up. I fold strapless tops and put on a suit; I sigh at J. Lo and spray on Chistian Dior. Inside my grey purse is a flash drive. Beside the remote control is a student list, not Schindler's and a timetable, not an antimatter. I see laptops everywhere, not steering wheels. Reminders only make it harder to bear.
The clock strikes 10. Gorgeous faculty march out of the office to Building 6. I drag myself behind motivated colleagues thinking of my hunk. Student chatter drowns my effort to cling to him. God knows how hard it is to let go. You see this hunk is my fully paid vacation this year, and he is gone bohoho! I click start a company profile presentation and the huge screen arrests the attention of my Business Administration majors. It's showtime!