The Waiting Room

hey everyone,

i’ve been running behind with my deadlines, so this week i have a short passage from the book, but i will have more later this week once i submit this article. a lot has been going on with my return to the club and my various misadventures in polyamory. i hit a wall recently with my capacity to spin so many plates. i have been spinning maybe 6 for the past several months, each a separate part time job requiring 5-20hrs per week. it can be difficult to find any mental space for myself when my hours end up whittled down between my various projects. that’s the problem when your work is your passion—it’s easy to forget that it is still work and that work requires boundaries. i have excellent boundaries with clients, but terrible boundaries when it comes to my community, speaking about what i believe in, and nourishing my own stillness. so apologies for the shortie this week. thank you all for supporting my work. you make it all possible.

~s

“I’m gonna check you in, Ms. Da Silva.” Mr. Perkins said as he wheeled Rat over to a quiet corner facing the front desk.

“Thank you.” Rat half whispered.

Rat had hardly spoken all day. Everything felt like an impressionist dream with a cast of characters whose faces were more gesture than detail. Were they really at the urgent care, or was it an illusion? Mr. Perkins grabbed a clipboard from the front and gently placed it in Rat’s lap. Rat stared at it helplessly..

“I’m gonna wait with you until your little friend comes back, don’t you worry.” Mr. Perkins said with a kindly smile.

It was reassuring, albeit paternalistic. Rat didn’t want to be alone. The room was dense with the noise of chatter and overly cheerful color block posters, encouraging everyone to “make healthy decisions” and “subscribe to the Chase Brexton newsletter”. Rat’s haziness faded as the sharply bright fluorescent lights and agitated chatter clamped onto their temples, returning them to an awareness of their relentless discomfort. They realized that their fingers were throbbing. They looked down at their hands and immediately regretted it. Rat knew how bad they were, and yet. They couldn’t help but stare, transfixed by the wreckage, until they felt Tiger’s slender hand on their shoulder.

“Sorry I took so long. I think there’s an event going on, so a bunch of roads are blocked off.”

“No worries, hunny. You ladies have a blessed day.” Mr. Perkins said, waving as he returned to the security desk.

“I need to fill this out, but--” Rat looked down at their bludgeoned hands, “I can’t. Can you help me?”

Tiger filled out the forms and handed them to the desk assistant. Then they waited. Rat and Tiger watched the sun setting through the window as one hour bled into the next. Tiger typed away on her phone, flipping between emails and Facebook threads. A TV monitor hanging above the check-in desk played a looping Chase Brexton news cycle. Rat felt as if they were being hypnotized by the repetition. They didn’t want to be a robot. Controlled. Made to eat more vegetables and less sugar. They would die a happy diabetic if they wanted to!

“Mariana Da Silva!”

“Here!” Rat shouted, worried they might lose their spot.

Tiger shot up, ready, and wheeled Rat into the intake area. The nurse frowned as she pressed herself against the wall, doing her best to leave enough room for Rat to pass. She cleared her throat and fanned herself with the clipboard.

“Lord, they keep it hot in here.” She murmured to nobody in particular.