luncheon talks.

The lunch talk was politics, religion, and other fancified bull shit that plagues this world's toxic tongue-things that back in the day would have made me squirm with discomfort, making me feel as though I had to pipe up and step up to bat, contributing something I may or may have agreed with, just to fulfill some unwritten, unspoken contract that we all tend to hang over our own heads for 'showing up' to this one.

Blah blah blah. 

But today was different. Call it maturity, not giving a fuck, or what have you, but today I chose to walk straight up out of this conversation. I sat there in silence for the moments leading up to my lofty escape for as long as I could bare, staring annoyingly at the few hairs I missed whilst shaving my legs earlier in the AM; I stared in silence until I could no longer find an article on the under-sole of my shoe that held my zombie-d out brain vibrations. Then, I fled.

Surely there were contorted face exchanges, droppy and rolling eye balls in the ugliest of deformaties going around the room, pst pst's about how dare the new girl, contract worker at that, leave our "visual-department-at-Bonton-Corporate-Milwaukee-Wisconsin-fascinating-luncheon-conversation, walk out at such a rare event.

 Gag me. 

Ciao kittens. This, friends, is the art of peacing the fuck out.

While plugged back in at my cube to sound vibrations ping ponging around in my various chakras, in desperate attempts to fix whatever brain cells I just lost in this last thirty minutes of agony, I felt a presence behind me, one that I prayed wasn't the guilty 'shoulder tappist' of the cube farm, for today, I would have punched her in the face, with her own fist-lo and behold, it t'was my boss. A lovely little nugget of a woman, 1,289,374,983,274 months pregnant, ready to explode a new human thing into the medium of this universe. I look up as she taps my shoulder-what is with people and shoulders-fuck. "Sorry if that got a bit deep," she says. An entertained smirk intoxicates my face. "No way! It's just that i had nothing to add to the conversation. Call it me getting older or whatever, frankly, I just don't feel like I always have to say something," I said. "That's one of the qualities I like most about you. There's a time to b a potter and a time to be a pot, my dad says, you're being the pot, a sponge," she said.

In walks a third party. This happened to be the girl in the luncheon that replied "...that is why I say nature is my religion," when talks of religion landed its naked body on the table. Our conversation, clothed in imported burlap coffee sacks, world maps and flowers adorning my small environment, arrived on an island called Grenada, a place I never knew existed on planet earth. The closest knowledge I had was of Granada, Spain... Tales of machetes, jungle boys and dogs called "tall boy." These, are the conversations worth adding any of the cents I have toward. The things that should be on the minds and tongues of people, things that actually have substance, challenging the mind, opening the heart and soul to the 196 countries that we could be talking about; real conversations, ones that stimulate the tips of the tongue, and all of the senses alike. Ones we can actually get somewhere with, and somewhere positive at that. No, I am not saying that it is taboo to speak on the aforementioned topics. I am saying that if we spent half the amount of time we do talking of bullshit, defending our opinions and casting judgement onto literally everything we possibly choose to get offended over, maybe this world wouldn't be so fucked up. Lets use are brains for things that are constructive, positive, game changers.

Just a thought...

Rewinding to the climactic precipice in my decision making process of exiting the conversation, the thought demons polluted my brain space, thoughts of " I'm going to piss someone off-cue guilt- maybe I'm being immature, and I'm the one with the problem, not able to man up and speak of these loaded topics...." The ego can be a real tricky dick...and I started to believe it, feeling the spiral begin in the first moments of sitting back at my desk.

Little did I know that by following my gut and following through with what my entire body was telling me to do, I would have established not only a whole new understanding and connection with two humans I could have otherwise continued a separate yet office co-existence, but I was able to trust myself and fly. I was able to spark new connections to neurological steams that will continue to bring forth the real me, the me that will have no problem peacing the fuck out when things don't resonate with my soul.