She was a journalist...

...unhappy with her newspaper.
She had only been there a week.
We were 2000 miles apart.
I hate this job.
Call me, she says.
Ok, I'll pretend
I am your sick child
wanting you to come home.
She answers on the second ring.
Mom, I have explosive diarrhea
and I...my...my butt hurts.
I giggle like a teenager.
She's quiet, very quiet.
I'm sorry - I know your boss
sits right across from you.
I'll be home in a few minutes, honey
she reassures me.
She gathered her personal belongings
and walked out of that newspaper
for good.

I have the utmost
respect for her decision.