Today I replied to 728 emails, spoke to 96 people on the phone, and somehow also became everyone’s unofficial therapist.
Bills. Kids. Husband. Wife.
Life.
Existential crises.
Ma’am.
Sir.
I am not your therapist.
I am just here to click buttons and pretend I’m emotionally stable.
By noon, my brain clocked out.
By 2 PM it submitted a leave request.
By 3 PM I was staring at my monitor like it owed me money and refused to pay.
Then finally—
5:00 PM.
Freedom.
I sprinted to the elevator because if I missed the first batch of people leaving, the hallway would turn into a National Geographic documentary: Migration of the Corporate Herd.
I reached the bus station.
It looked like a zombie apocalypse.
Except the zombies were holding tote bags, coffee cups, and emotional damage, all aggressively trying to board a bus that had clearly given up on respecting capacity limits.
Normally I squeeze in with everyone.
But today?
No energy.
My soul had already left my body around 2:47 PM.
So I waited for the next bus.
Same problem.
Another bus came.
Same problem.
At this point the buses were arriving already emotionally overwhelmed.
Two hours later my legs were shaking, my back was screaming, and my feet were preparing to file a formal HR complaint.
Finally… another bus arrived.
I climbed in as the last survivor.
Honestly I didn’t even care anymore.
I just wanted to go home and collapse like a Victorian woman with tuberculosis.
The bus was so full the door pushed me inside like,
“Congratulations.
You live here now.”
My face was pressed against the glass like a sad aquarium fish.
Someone was coughing.
Someone’s armpit was hosting a public event.
There was sweat.
There was odor.
There were regrets.
At one point I genuinely thought:
“This is it.
This is how I die.
Not in glory.
But suffocated between a backpack and someone’s elbow.”
I was one stop away from fainting and becoming a viral cautionary tale.
But then—
A miracle.
The bus reached my stop before my spirit left my body.
The doors opened.
And honestly?
It felt like the gates of heaven opened too.
Fresh air.
Night sky.
My soul slowly downloading back into my body like slow Wi-Fi.
I walked home.
Then I heard it.
My Badoodle.
Tiny paws.
Zoomies.
Pure chaotic happiness.
The sound of someone who had apparently been waiting all day just to celebrate my survival.
I opened the door slowly…
And there he was.
Tail wagging.
Running back and forth like,
“SUS! YOU’RE BACK!
YOU DEFEATED THE BUS MONSTER!”
And just like that…
The exhaustion melted away.
I still don’t want to commute.
But there’s something comforting about knowing that at the end of the day…
Someone is waiting for you.
And they are genuinely thrilled you came home alive.
We ate dinner.
Did our night routine.
I kissed Oishi on the forehead.
Then we slept.
Good night.
I hope the office burns down tomorrow so there’s no work.
I couldn’t sleep last night because of the buzzing. Not the cute kind of buzzing like “Oh wow, I’m excited to live my life.” No. This was the evil kind. The kind that goes:
bzzzbzzzbzz… right when you’re about to fall asleep and dream about Macchismo.
I covered my head with pillows. Counted a million sheep. Threatened the universe. Finally… I fell asleep.
Oishi and I woke up excited because there’s a new burger restaurant across the street. Like, brand new, fresh signage, blessed aroma, the kind of place where you feel God smiling at you through bacon grease.
We hurried over and bought the most savory, tastiest, “I deserve this” kind of quarter pounder burger… with fries.
We decided to take it to go so we could eat at home while watching our favorite show: The Detective Agency.
Because what’s better than a burger?
A burger + crime solving + emotional support dog + me silently thirsting over Rhys Halden.
Oishi (Narrating)
I woke up with my heart pounding.
Sus told me yesterday there’s a new restaurant with a mouthwatering burger and we’d go today, and then I realized—
Today is today.
My tail was wagging like a fan in summer. I could already taste it: big patty, bacon, cheese, the kind of burger that makes you forgive your enemies.
Also, Sus has been giving me only kibble lately because “I gained weight.” Hello? Have you looked in the mirror, Susan?
Anyway. We went to the restaurant. Ordered the biggest, most glorious quarter pounder burger with bacon.
We took it home because Sus likes to eat while watching Rhys Halden. She always goes:
“Badoodle… he’s dangerously handsome. Look at his jawline. Look at those muscles.”
And I’m like: Please stop. This is a family home.
Susan (Narrating)
We got home and I kicked my shoes off so fast they left my body spiritually. Oishi did zoomies like a madman.
We sat on the couch. I pulled the burger out of the bag in slow motion like it was an award ceremony.
I unwrapped it.
The patty, the bacon, the cheese… the tomatoes peeking out like they were proud to be there.
I cut it in half and gave Oishi his share.
We were about to bite…
…and a fly landed on my burger.
Not just any fly.
A blue fly.
A bold, entitled, “I pay rent here” kind of blue fly.
And it wasn’t even acting scared. It landed on the burger like it was doing a yoga pose.
Like: Namastay away from your lunch.
Oishi (Narrating)
I saw it.
A fly.
On Susan’s burger… and mine.
The audacity.
I barked at the top of my lungs. My soul almost left my body.
I jumped—don’t judge me, I’m not a horse, I’m a baby—and I didn’t even reach 2 feet off the ground.
That fly was fast. It flew around like it was mocking us. Then it landed on the lampshade. On the TV. On utensils. DISGUSTING.
And the worst part?
It landed on our toothbrush.
And I swear it was smiling.
Susan (Narrating)
I couldn’t take it anymore.
So I did what any responsible adult would do.
I watched a “How to Catch an Annoying Fly” tutorial on YouTube.
Oishi and I huddled like military strategists.
Operation: Blue Fly Trap.
I placed a jar on its side on the kitchen table.
Then Oishi bit biscuits and scattered the crumbs like a trail.
We hid behind the fridge. Like spies. Like heroes.
The fly followed the crumbs into the jar…
…and the second it went inside, I slammed the lid shut.
TRAPPED.
Finally. That entitled flying menace was contained.
We cleaned up, then went back to the restaurant and bought burgers again.
Because yes—our trauma has a budget.
We sat in front of the jar while eating.
The fly looked miserable.
We chewed in slow motion to add emotional damage.
Susan (Narrating)
Three days passed.
I forgot about the trapped fly. Honestly, I was busy living my life.
Then one afternoon… while washing dishes, I heard buzzing and tapping at the kitchen window.
I looked up.
And I froze.
There were blue flies.
Plural.
They had banners.
One banner said: JUSTICE FOR FLY. One fly had a headband like a union leader. One held a fist symbol like they were about to overthrow capitalism. One held a heart symbol… with the blue fly’s face like a political campaign.
I almost felt sorry.
Then I saw the trapped fly inside the jar…
…holding a tiny phone.
And it was calling for reinforcements.
Oh. So you’re not a victim. You’re a mob boss.
Oishi wouldn’t stop barking like his baby bark could end a revolution.
And then something rose inside me.
My inner villain.
I laughed.
BWAHAHAHAHAHA.
Because I knew exactly what to do.
I reached for the Baygon.
The kitchen turned into a Last Stand movie.
Susan & Badoodle on one side… The Fly Nation on the other.
I lifted the can.
They started trembling.
The trapped fly looked HORRIFIED. He knew his entire clan was about to be deleted from existence.
Then—
He waved a white flag.
A banner dropped at the window:
PEACE TREATY.
I paused.
Oishi paused.
Even my villain side paused.
Oishi (Narrating)
Our kitchen looked like a world summit. Like smart people were there. Like we were about to solve international conflict.
I cleared my throat and announced:
“Peace talks will commence in a few minutes.”
The blue fly started talking like, “I didn’t mean to intrude—”
I cut him off.
“Yes you did.”
He sighed. “Alright. You got me. Yes, I did.”
Then he said something that hit Sus right in the guilt.
“I’ve been smelling leftover food.”
And suddenly I remembered.
Sus loves Christmas parties because she always brings home leftovers saying:
“Oishi, this will last a week! We don’t need to cook!”
But she doesn’t store them properly.
Susan’s face turned red.
She whispered, “I was tired, Oishi. I didn’t clean the fridge. And I missed taking out the garbage last Wednesday.”
My paw went straight to my forehead.
The fly promised they wouldn’t bother us again if we fix the situation.
Another fly typed the treaty notes.
They handed us a tiny peace document.
I stamped my paw print.
Susan signed.
The flies buzzed in agreement like: Bzz bzz, we accept your terms.
Later that day, Sus cleaned the house for three hours.
Everything was spotless. Squeaky clean. Smelled like Zonrox and repentance.
Then we went back to the burger restaurant.
Because we deserved healing.
We ordered our quarter pounder bacon cheese melt burger again.
Ember - Fire and Soul 