Here I am on the eve of my second week back to work.  While last week was a relatively easy week, and I tend to think my bosses did that on purpose so I could regain my footing somewhat, there was something that started to get to me towards the end of the week.  I really didn’t know how to describe it until I sat with Pudding Saturday night and talked about some things… one of which was how each of us was holding up.

Pudding has gotten two part-time jobs, with a third one scheduled for September.  She told me she needs to do this to keep busy.  The thing is, since she just moved and isn’t from the area, people are curious.  They ask her about her family, and that leads to the question of “How many children do you have?” The answer she gives is true, but the dilemma in answering this question is that it leads to other questions, and then she finds herself trying to explain it.  The thing is, once she explains it they tend to look at her the same way it seems everyone has been looking at me this past week.

They look at us as if we are irreparably damaged.

It comes from people not understanding how you could be standing there in front of them.  They wonder why you aren’t curled up into a ball under the covers at home.  They wonder how you are able to function and in the back of their minds are preparing themselves for your inability to do so… because really, just how well could you be?  Especially with those looks…

I know that I’m damaged.  The truth be told, I was damaged before what happened 32 days ago.  I thought that perhaps I was getting the looks because it was somehow more obvious… as if there was a sign on my forehead.  Then, after talking to Pudding about it, I noticed it myself.  Sunday morning I went into Borders, got an ice coffee, whipped out a spiral notebook I’ve been jotting things down in, and looked around.  Guess what?  No looks.  No one there was any wiser that I was different… or they just didn’t care.  I was just the fat guy having an ice coffee with a monkey covered notebook on my lap.

No one knew I was damaged… or if they did then they didn’t know to what extent.

It was kinda nice to be honest.  To be just another guy for a change in what seems to be an eternity even though its just over a month.  Which is why I’m kind of dreading going back to work tomorrow… because they all know… and they’re all going to look.