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Workers of a Nation


It’s Labor Day here in the states. That means very little if you don’t have a desk job. For service employees, grocery store workers, and all our other hard-working neighbors it means supporting the class above you so you forever know your place. I got the day off, and I got it paid. But a lot of the people I manage didn’t get paid because PTO is reserved for after 2 years, because that’s how you celebrate the workers of a nation. It means little to me besides the fact I got some alone time with Amelia. Sorry to say, however, that even that didn’t feel the same. Yesterday might have been an extra Saturday but today just felt like a heightened Sunday. I would look at the clock expecting it to be later only to find the slow creep of the holiday inching forward.

We went to the water park across the street but the water was terribly cold. It was good we went, though, because today is the last day it’s open. It doesn’t matter that there’s a heat wave with triple degree weather expected all of this week. The city just doesn’t want to have more parks than possible because if people can do things without spending money then they’re not worth it in the eyes of the state.

Air quality wasn’t so bad but you could see and smell the smoke. We stayed outside for about an hour and then slogged the day away. I don’t know how to feel about being boring. Amelia is never totally interested in our days off together because we either A) don’t have the car since Marie took it to work; B) can’t go anywhere inside due to rising delta cases; C) can’t stay outside long due to the declining air quality. It’s almost as if we have been trapped in a capitalistic hell scape.

It’s almost as if I have to start accepting the fact that my role in Amelia’s life will not be that of the most important, interesting, nor engaging, but rather the most consistent: consistently present, consistently supporting, consistently grumpy, consistently doing my best to make sure she can find happiness wherever she pleases.



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