Either I give too much, or – now – I feel secretly guilty for maybe not giving enough, and I don’t know which feels better. Or less bad. When I’m stressed, stumbling and bleary-eyed I can think only of what will ensure my survival moment to moment, such as sleep.
I’ve never worked anywhere where there seemed to be highly motivated individuals with a strong sense of self and dedication to the company as well. Take Elsa: so much dedication. Endless dedication. Personality of – well, I was telling the director “You know, the thing that gets to me about her is that -”
“She’s a sweet girl, but you know,” she cut me off, but didn’t know where to go next. She is, by all accounts, a sweet girl. Educated too. “The thing that gets me about her,” I continued with an attempt at vigor, then paused.
“The essential thing to understand about Elsa is that if we were all in our coonskin caps in a fort being besieged by attackers and we told her ‘Open fire when they get here!’ She would see them running up, and ask ‘Well, do we want them to get here, like the immediate vicinity, or like here here, like climbing up the fort? Should I waste my ammo on the ones leading the attack or should I wait until more arrive – how much ammo are we in possession of, anyways?’ and then we would die, coonskin caps and all.”
“Really? That’s the analogy you’re going with today?” I touched my forehead. I’d broken out into a sweat: I should have been flat in bed, resting with the mono.
“Fever dreams,” I told her.