My work friend called me early this morning to tell me that I had issues. Big ones. Beyond her realm of thinking. That was her complaint. I told her that I couldn't be "cured" in one simple phone call. It had taken me years to perfect my inadequacies. I accused her of being jealous, and that my issue was not really an issue at all, but rather her own sad self realization that she could never be like me.
She agreed.
She has no interest in organizing the space in front of where "we" sit at the nursing station. Yes, that is the "issue": exactly 12 pencils, 24 red pens, and 24 black pens, all tucked away in their allotted spaces. Not to mention the adequately filled holders for the yellow hilighter pens, and the black felt markers.
She wont even attempt to be like me.....
I wonder why.
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