The Difference Between Getting and Needing

s i x

my drug is my baby
i'll be using for the rest of my l i f e . . .

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As much as I respected Donatella, being both my boss and sort of a stricter second mother, there was one day I'd rather die than set foot in her studio.

Our monthly Saturday morning staff meetings.

Stressful wasn't even an adequate word to describe them. It was the only time where the fifteenth floor was complete anarchy. Donatella was typically a very grounded person who had control over anyone that was within the vicinity of her office space. I never understood how she did it, but I admired her for it. Saturday mornings were her Achilles heel.

We'd gather in the biggest conference room (which Donatella preferred to call "chitchat rooms") in the studio – sample cutters, fabric designers, sewers, assistants, and the like. There was never enough caffeine to go around for all the people that would flood the area, which goes to say there was never enough room for anyone to breathe. Sometimes they'd last an hour long, sometimes three or four. It was our monthly moment to clean up, organize, and get our shit together.

Now at this particular Saturday meeting, I was ready to leave the second I walked through the doors. That wasn't the case, considering I was there from when it started at nine o'clock in the morning until just past noon. I was close to the point of passing out, due to the lack of food in my stomach blended with too much coffee, and yet I had a Halloween party to attend later on.

I somewhat had a costume ready, the last minute idea of being a leopard coming to me before I fell asleep the night before. It was lazy and uninspired, but with my sister's wedding consuming my life for the better part of the year, I had the same amount of energy to care about Halloween as I did being a bridesmaid.

Not much.

Gus and I had known about the party for a couple of weeks and we were still unprepared. Typical of us – nevertheless, we were stressed. I wasn't even sure if he had an idea for what to wear, although he was the least of my concerns. Deep down, I knew that wasn't really true because he'd be up my ass for advice when I had a million other things to do besides approve whatever mediocre costume he could dream up.

Dean, who I mentioned before is my favorite guy out of Gus' posse, was the host. He and his sister's shared apartment in the oldest part of the city was a place that was no stranger to parties. They were both in the nursing field, or else I'd question how the hell they could afford to live where they do. With charming cobblestone roads and protected historic sites that contradicted modern condos and experimental eateries that were slowly taking over the area, it certainly wasn't cheap. But really, what was anymore?

While we didn't have to go out of our way to impress them, or anyone else that would be there for that matter, I was the imbecile that volunteered to bring a dessert. In my head, it sounded better than I initially thought. Clearly I didn't think that one all the way through.

Once I got a costume idea, I spent however many minutes wasting away time I could've spent sleeping to scroll feverishly through Pinterest, looking for Halloween party desserts like a crazed coupon clipper hunting for a deal. Ultimately, it would end up to be a toothache-worthy concoction of sugar and cream cheese because apparently those were the only two ingredients you'd need to make any sort of sweet dip, according to at-home chefs and food bloggers. Either way, the dying perfectionist somewhere buried inside me couldn't disappoint.

When the elevator reached the lobby and Nadia elbowed my arm because I didn't make a move to step out, I knew I'd been daydreaming about the grocery store for too long.