I used to hate it when a cashier would wish me a blessed day. It was (and is) a part of an oppressive attempted hegemony of belief that makes me feel alienated and exhausted by turns.
But I was at Target today, watching my checker push things over the scanner. I remember that job. I still dream it sometimes. I remember the repetition and the deprivation of it. The exhaustion, the minutes dragging past like knotted floss through an infected gum. I remembered the little scraps of spellcraft I used to do to survive, how it sometimes snagged on the people around me. They felt it, customer and coworker alike. We could sometimes share something that would light up the day around it. We could make a little warmth in an otherwise cold and concrete day.
Fine, Alyssa, fine. I’ll have a blessed day. You have blessed me. Thank you.
