Confession by Doc Nolan

                     
                                    by Doc Nolan

Life was becoming a jumble.    He hopped from task to task, looking over his shoulder  at the ?
desktop constantly (when not gazing up at the clock over his cubicle).   The alarms even began ?
to become a blur.  The cellphone.  The timer.  The inbound messages.  The intercom.

“Can I keep up?” James asked himself, speaking aloud.

A face popped up, peering around  the edge of his cubicle.  Long blonde hair.  The smell of ?
Allure.  A pair of low-hanging fruit.  (James liked melons, but cantaloupes and pears were fine ?
too.).   Then the usual words: “My face is up here, James!”

“Yes, ma’am!”  Inside his skull the words were, ‘Caught again.  Shit!’

“Have you finished yet?”, she asked.  The Boss Lady!  His supervisor’s ‘higher up’.
James’ mind went blank.  Which project was hers.  Damn!  Which?

“I have it done soon, ma’am!” he said, hoping that whatever it was could be done ‘in time’.  In ?
time for what?  He couldn’t remember!

“Good,” she said.  As she turned and left, he noticed she was wearing jeans.  Tight jeans.  ?
Very tight jeans.

His mind then snapped back to work – the timer had gone off.  He moved papers around.  Finally! ?
 There!  The yellow pad with all his jobs written down.  Thank goodness.  Best of all , the ?
alarm was just a nuisance one --  set to remind him to start on a short and not very important ?
project. Whew!  But before the pad would disappear under the paper pile, James started going ?
down the list.  Her job was somewhere here; he knew it was.  And it was indeed.

He swore.

He hadn't even started on that one!  He felt a deathly fear rise up in him as he looked at the ?
date.  Today.  Not possible, he thought.  He looked again.  Yes, today!

“What should I do?” he thought.  He took some deep breaths.  Get calm.

And then it was obvious what he would need to do.  Go to her office.  Speak the truth.  Tell ?
her he would need an extension.

And that is what he had done.

The outcome was nothing like what he had expected.  She had nodded, looked at him with a smirk, ?
told him to set in the chair opposite her.  And then she delivered her incredibly strange ?
proposition.

And here he was – a month later – technically unemployed.  She had fired him on the spot.  ?
But…. But….

He heard a voice from the living room.  “James!  When you finish the ironing, I want you to ?
wash all the dishes – by hand.  Remember you have to cook tonight!  And I want it served by 6 ?
p.m. sharp!  Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he shouted back.

So far he’d done ok.  She didn’t seem inclined to fire him THIS time.  She seemed to like ?
having him sleep on the tile floor at the foot of her bed, and do chores, and cook, and clean.
And now there was no forest of timers and alarms and distractions to contend with.  He simply ?
needed to focus on her.  His  stress level was now so much lower.

James took a deep breath as he put the iron back above the washing machine and headed out: destination sink!  Project: dishes.