Free at Last

it's no fun to get benched. the coach trusts you - four-foot something, 6th grade point guard, number 21, jv high scorer - to make it happen. get in there little o'brien, she says, foamy spit gathering in the corners of her mouth, grotesquely obese woman chastising frail little girls for not moving their hips fast enough. but inevitably, some days you just don't have what it takes. the ref blows the whistle - you see janet donahue at the scorer's table, number 5, tube socks pulled up above her knees - and the coach points to you, motions, "sit." you run over, head high, slap janet's sweaty palm but don't look her in the eye, then watch the game from a metal fold out chair. you want your team to win, but you can't help secretly wishing airballs, travelling calls, and vicious fouls on janet.

i think i got benched today. after many months of harried writing with no solid final product in sight, i received an email from the coach's crummy little toady that i would be turning the project over to him. my first reaction - they think i suck, and that bothers me. my second - this information in an email? my third - i'm free at last!

i have not realized the pressure and stress this job has put on me until i contemplated freedom from it. unless they change their minds, which they have been known to do on a weekly basis, i will suddenly have time for school again, time for my writing, time for my life, time that is not clouded over by a looming deadline for something i'm not enjoying doing. but as i slap their hands, i hope to wish them well. of course, i wish them maybe a stolen pass or two, an elbow in the ribs, so they can appreciate my difficult situation and hard work. but beyond that, i hope it turns out to be the most phenomenal coffee table book that no one will ever read. after all, it will have my name on it.