A great dream about work (yes, work!) was followed by an alarmingly violent dream. One of those that I wake from calm, but looking up at the ceiling in a dead stare wondering what the hell is wrong with my subconscious. We'll start with the good one.
Me and several of my co-workers were doing a product presention to a classroom full of people. Literally, it was classroom. Now we're in sales, so we're always doing sales pitches, presentations, and product demos. To this many people though, rarely. With that many people on our side, never. Just as we were getting introduced by the meeting emcee a lady spoke up. She had power and we'd met with her before, but she suddenly didn't want us there and didn't want anything to do with our products. She kicked us out of the room! We were dumbfounded. Here we were all prepared and raring to go and she kicks us out. The entire room followed because, apparently, she was too powerful or too much of a bitch for any to go against. As my co-workers filed out of the room I tried to reason with her. I explained to her that we'd discussed this entire presentation before and she'd agreed to give us the floor. I insisted it was very unprofessional, no downright inappropriate for her to gather her entire group for a presentation then dismiss the presenters. She was sympathetic to my case and agreed to let us move forward with our presentation. Once she let up, one of her counterparts agreed, announced the room that we would be moving forward, and invited us back in. I went out into the hall (remember this is a classroom so where else would we have been dismissed to but the hallway) and let everyone know I'd calmed her down and we could go ahead with our schpeel.
Me to the rescue! We went ahead with the presentation and knocked their socks off. It was interactive, animated, and informative. Everything any businessperson hopes a sales pitch will be. The audience ate it up. Throughout the presentation the pride I took in saving the day endowed me with a phsyically good feeling. It was clearly the best work dream ever. It was a peak then came the valley....
Showing posts with label power. Show all posts
Showing posts with label power. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Passion & Politics
She was held by a man last night. He came to her door though she thought he might never again. How could he leave his family again? His wife, so perfect; a role model, a woman she’d never think either of them could betray. Yet here he was. He towered over her in an unreal way. Her arms were just at his waist as she clung to him in the doorway exclaiming that she didn’t think he’d come back. Just his hold on her was somehow comforting. Her heart beat so loud and fast in her head that she couldn’t make out his words. She led him inside or moreover he led her. His power over her was immediately clear, sensual, and seductive. Such a powerful man he was in every way. He offered her a drink from her own cabinet. Something he must have purchased specifically for his visits. Something she figured would collect dust until during some desperate snow storm she’d have nothing left to keep her warm and would have to imbibe. Knob Hill whiskey, a strong drink that she’d only toasted with her father after breakfast on Christmas morning. He asked her if she knew anything about the drink, like about its history.
“No,” she said.
“Do you know when it was first made?” he asked.
The question was obviously a test. She should know this somehow, but the longer she thought about it the farther away she got from the answer and the more impatient he became.
He smiled, “Your shoes. What is that number on your shoes?”
She looked down. The number ‘86’ was imprinted on the lip of her camel-colored loafers. They were a designer brand and, at the time, the significance of the number escaped her. He was always so smart and observant. Eighty-six was the year in either 1900 or 1800 when Knob Hill was first distilled. It was right on the bottle. He figured she would use her loafers as a hint, but the question had gone over her head. He didn’t mind. It was fun to mess with her, to watch all that nervous energy wash from her face as she tried to think. She was smarter than she knew or than she let herself be. When the riddle was found out and they returned to their current surroundings the sexual tension had only intensified. It was a torturous feeling they both feared they could not do without.
She knew that he controlled her. Around him she was nothing more than a flower, wilting in his hands, delicate to his touch, a sad and lonely weed of her former self when he was away. He knew that she let him control her. She was not like this normally. Normally she was controlling, sometimes bossy, and always leading. To control her as she wanted to be he had to be precise, so he did it with care. He had to be hard, but sincere. He needed to be dominant and powerful, as he always perceived himself to be. This reverie of their personalities fit like puzzle pieces. What a shame they worked so well together.
“No,” she said.
“Do you know when it was first made?” he asked.
The question was obviously a test. She should know this somehow, but the longer she thought about it the farther away she got from the answer and the more impatient he became.
He smiled, “Your shoes. What is that number on your shoes?”
She looked down. The number ‘86’ was imprinted on the lip of her camel-colored loafers. They were a designer brand and, at the time, the significance of the number escaped her. He was always so smart and observant. Eighty-six was the year in either 1900 or 1800 when Knob Hill was first distilled. It was right on the bottle. He figured she would use her loafers as a hint, but the question had gone over her head. He didn’t mind. It was fun to mess with her, to watch all that nervous energy wash from her face as she tried to think. She was smarter than she knew or than she let herself be. When the riddle was found out and they returned to their current surroundings the sexual tension had only intensified. It was a torturous feeling they both feared they could not do without.
She knew that he controlled her. Around him she was nothing more than a flower, wilting in his hands, delicate to his touch, a sad and lonely weed of her former self when he was away. He knew that she let him control her. She was not like this normally. Normally she was controlling, sometimes bossy, and always leading. To control her as she wanted to be he had to be precise, so he did it with care. He had to be hard, but sincere. He needed to be dominant and powerful, as he always perceived himself to be. This reverie of their personalities fit like puzzle pieces. What a shame they worked so well together.
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