Mute

I've nothing to say. One by one I call people into my office and I ask them what they want from me. A flood of requests and troubles and wrongs that need to be righted and stories of miserable children burst forth like a broken dam. And I sit there, a quiet Buddha, playing with the stone necklace I made last night. I make one every night, often redoing the same one over and over. And I play with my long hair and cough and sneeze because I'm allergic to my whole office, maybe even to the work I do, and I listen to the clock tick and ask, "Is that all? Is that all you want from me?" And then I set out a plan for how I will help them, a map for how we will get from here to there.