The Working Woman

Once upon a time, I had an office job. This job was cushy and I got away with a lot of stupid things. But I always did my work. I did stupid things like beat up keyboards, filing cabinets, shoot zip disks out of zip disk drives (they FLY), and concoct terrible things on my lunch break. My work uniform was pretty much whatever I wanted - read: same black Pumas I'd had since I was 13, black shirt of some kind, and either a red linen buttondown or a cornflower blue blouse. It was my way of feeling like a little professional at age 13.
That blouse. Crisp, hanging in my closet for me every morning. Darts sewn flat. It gave me a sense of order. Paired with my favorite dark jeans, it made me feel serious, but not too serious. I could take on the world at my desk, flaunting my cornflower blue shirt, wielding my letter opener, and rocking out to music on the iPod I purchased all by myself. Yes, that shirt gave me confidence.
The next summer, something happened. Shortly after graduation I spiraled into terror. The world was out to get me. I could die any day, for any reason. I didn't know what to do with this strange new feeling. Irrational bouts of terror that I believed would ultimately culminate in death weren't something I could bring into casual conversation.
I dealt with it. Or tried.
Yeah, not so brilliant solution there. Cue four months of trying to look like you're not panicking, trying to keep it all from tumbling down. And I couldn't let it - how good I looked in my little cornflower blue buttondown, cuffs turned up ever-so-slightly with the little-bit-big black jeans (negative sizes don't exist) and the everpresent black shoes. Not a hair out of place. Brand-new black eyeglasses. Hoop earrings all lined up, three per ear.

I have a job interview Friday. The cornflower blue shirt won't be coming with me. I will march into the office, vintage designer wardrobe courtesy of Thrift Town. My skirt is printed with Ferragamo bags, gloves, loafers, scarves, and Hermès Kelly bags. My vintage cashmere cardigan is decorated with hand-sewn pearls. The cornflower blue shirt is back at home in my closet. Since I lost my office job I don't wear my cornflower blue shirt that much, but sometimes I take it out and look at it and feel sad, but triumphant.
Some days I still wonder if death is waiting for me behind a light pole, but for now, I've kept on walking.