July 12th – Anet

Anet – prep: about, concerning

Seth threw back three shots of tequila in quick succession, shuddered, and turned back to the computer. He reread the email again and clicked the ‘Reply’ arrow.

“Dear Mr. Horn-Beast Editor,
Anet your recent rejection of the masterpiece I’ve spent the last three years of my life perfecting, please understand that I find your decision apish and I conclude that you are in the wrong line of work. I suggest that you tender your resignation immediately and procure another form of employment that will not tax your little knotty-pated brain.

Respectfully Yours,
Seth Mason
Brilliant Author”

Seth downed another shot of tequila, checked the email for errors, and then hit ‘Send’ on the malapropos email that he’d certainly regret in the morning.

May 26th – Fulminate

Fulminate – v: to send forth censure or invectives

I lose track of his words as he fulminates against my honesty, my ability to and capacity love, my reputation and character. I listen to the indistinguishable rage of his words as they fall around me and I wish they were lies, but I know they’re not.

September 30th – Impolitic

Impolitic – adj: not politic: rash

I lifted my hands off the keyboard and reached for my mouse. Right index finger hovering over the left click, cursor hovering over the “Send” button, I reread the email I’d written in a rage fueled fugue.

My heart dropped into my intestines.

In a greeting, three short paragraphs, and a sign off I’d used the word “fuck” twenty-three times, “shit” eleven times, and had called my boss a “cocksucker” on three separate occasions. I’d insulted his intelligence, his ability to do anything, and his right to call himself a human being. I had even slandered his ancestors, specifically his grandmother, in the last paragraph.

I ripped my hand away from the mouse like it was scorching hot lava. Had I already sent the email hurtling towards my boss? The email remained on my screen, unsent. I shifted the cursor away from the “Send” button with a gentle tap on the chord of the mouse. Then in a few deft, panicked motions, I deleted what had to be one of the most impolitic email that had been written in the history of emails.

Worried that somehow it still lingered, I trashed the now blank draft and hit “Reply” to load a fresh email.

I typed my reply out with two fingers, reading it aloud to myself. “Sounds good. I’ll get right on it.”