Hooked on a Feeling

Friday nights were the worst. I would stick my hand into my purse as I walked out of the glass doors at work and search for my travel pack of tissues. The ones that I hid in every coat, all my handbags, in the console of my car and the drawers of my work desk for the inevitable moments when my eyes would start leaking, often unexpectedly and always aggravatingly. As I watched everyone else leave work and make their way home to kids and spouses and pets and out to dinner with friends, I would climb into my car and hear nothing.