JR and I have had our first big row. It was silly, really.
The drama played itself out on stage at work today. I was portraying the freaked-out boss and he, the disgruntled employee. I didn't want to bring it home, but he insisted. His line was simple, but he refused to take his cue. Things were taken "personally" and being the highly sensitive artiste that I am, I chose to play the drama to it's logical conclusion. We have just finished several beers, a bevy of cigarettes and about two hours of semantics, which ended, of course, in hugs and laughter. This was only after he realized that the separation between who we play at work and who we play at home, must be different.
I don't real consider the "role" I play at work to be who I really am. It's a part and I am an actor. I say the lines and hit my marks. I provide levity or gravity as the situation requires. I am an accomplished actor in that regard. When the other players go "off script" I try to steer them back on course, but I am not always successful. Today was an ugly exercise in improvisation gone horribly wrong. I suppose I had underestimated JR's ability to play "psycho bitch." But, having won several awards for the part myself, I trumped his Blanche with my Baby Jane. Hopefully, we have both learned valuable lessons and will be better people for it.
Personally, I hope that the entire ordeal will be forgotten. But since I am still bleeding all over the place, I find that thought hard to fathom. I am missing a pound of flesh. What is the name of this play?
I worry about my inability to control my emotions. I try to note the channels (triggers), but sometimes, it seems as though I do not have the remote. Forget trying to explain to someone else which buttons to push, especially when they refuse to admit possession. I have to work harder at being the one in control. No one else seems to know what to do with it.