It was wrapping a jacket around my waist. Then I got STUPID and wrote to a coworker. Then, grieving B III and nearly fighting my meathead boss. Next was no earbuds. Now, eating in the workspace. Rule breaker, criminal, evil… We’ll B Fools Virgil
Wednesday, March 6, 2024
Tale 249 ~We’ll B Fools Virgil~
Bless Me, Echo,
For I have sinned. If you asked me my three greatest sins, Inspector, they would be Braxton, Breathing, and Bad Writing. And Breathing right now… Not recommended.
First, let me explain: I’m just a black man… black man. So is there anyone out there ’cause it’s getting harder and harder to breathe. My apologies for the song lyrics, Echo, but this is the least of my sins today. Stealing people’s words these least. Waking up the greatest.
So, in my words, Inspector:
Have you ever woken up and believed that the simple act of you breathing…? The mere concept that you are alive is the problem. Look at me; I’m crying. And for once, it’s about me and not B. I don’t deserve tears, and yet here we are. But somebody sweated.
I could rant about politics and/or talk about Race. Do you know how they talk about teaching black children History? Black History’s wrong… I’m nearly forty. And I’m learning that everything about me is wrong.
Inspector, again, I wake up. And since I opened my eyes, that in itself was a sin. I could tell you everything I’ve done from 4:00 AM to 7:40 AM. Opening these eyes, Waking, Breathing…
Everything is wrong. Tuesday was a bad day, and this second. Life’s like this. Hmm?
I was feeling good. Shocker! I helped out the cute visual lady and was basking in my manliness handling a ladder, but it was time to leave. So I begin to clock out, and there’s a notice above it. Circled in bright green are rules about food and drinks brought into the work area. Not a word was said to me, of course, Inspector, but…
I carry sour gummies, a handful of chips, chocolate, and blue Gatorade. And whatever else.
Please understand! I’m not saying I’m innocent! I’m guilty as sin! I’ve been telling you for 1,130 days what I did to my son, Braxton, how I’m no kind of father to the little Virgil.
But when somebody put sweat into telling me and then not telling me I’m wrong… Inspector, I never thought I’d say this, but I miss my Old Man. He’s alive and kicking, and he has zero qualms about calling me STUPID. But people at the Day Job, I try avoiding.
Yet I’m breaking the rules being me. And Virgil is sentenced to this bedroom, too. The Banality of Evil. My existing breathing. Just surviving somehow. Illegal. We’ll B Fools Virgil
1130 Days Without B III, Day 571 of Virgil’s Arrival
BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will