The Weight of Bullshit

Elena stared at the PowerPoint slide, the corporate buzzwords blurring together. Another meeting about "synergy" and "paradigm shifts." The real vitamin she needed wasn't in any bottle — it was the will to walk away.

Her phone buzzed. Dad again.

"Your father won't eat his spinach," the nurse's voice came through. "He says it tastes like sadness."

Elena closed her eyes. Her father, once a man who'd faced down actual bulls in the rodeo circuit, now reduced to stubborn resistance over leafy greens. The irony wasn't lost on her.

"Mix it with some applesauce," she said, already exhausted. "And tell him I'll visit tonight."

After work, she stopped at the pet store. Barnaby — Dad's elderly cat — needed special food now. The clerk chatted about her own cat, a friendly Siamese who'd comforted her through a divorce. Elena nodded politely, unable to remember the last time she'd had a conversation that wasn't transactional.

Dad's nursing home smelled of antiseptic and institutional meals. She found him in his wheelchair, Barnaby curled on his lap like a judgmental fluff.

"Spinach," he grunted. "Really?"

"It's good for you."

"I'm eighty-two, El. What exactly am I building toward?" His eyes were clearer than she'd seen in months. "The bullshit — that's what kills you. Not the food."

Something cracked open in her chest. The corporate presentations, the performance reviews, the carefully curated LinkedIn profile — all of it suddenly seemed absurd.

"My friend Sarah called," he continued. "Her daughter just got promoted. Vice President."

"That's... good?"

"She hasn't visited her mother in three years." He scratched Barnaby behind the ears. "You know what vitamin nobody talks about? Presence. Just showing the hell up."

Elena sat with him until visiting hours ended. They didn't say much. Sometimes Barnaby would bat at her hand with an arthritic paw.

At 2 AM, she typed her resignation letter. No notice period, no polite transition plan. Just: "I'm choosing something different."

The spinach was still on Dad's tray the next morning. He ate the applesauce mixture without complaining. He looked at her with something like approval.

"About time," he said.

Barnaby purred. Elena's phone stayed silent. For the first time in years, she felt nourished.