Tuesday
Trash day. Last night's rain warped everything. Grass. Lawn chairs. I never know how it does.
Little pieces of tree and leaves are coming down out of the tops and spreading everywhere. Tiny dried up late-springtime bits covering the ground. Clods of them tearing by on this windy mid-morning when all else is quiet.
My sister saw the house with the eviction notice as we went through the old neighborhood. I remembered two kids, a dog, a trampoline, while we looked toward the empty open mailbox. Rain soaked tongue of its door lolling like an unwanted dog. If a house could be a loveless dog preparing to die.
Everything is wet.
…that until organizations realize that treating adults like wayward children destroys morale, creativity, and basic human joy, the micromanager will continue to loom—hovering, nitpicking, doubting, draining, controlling—like the world’s least charismatic supervillain.