What I've Got

Nothing.

I’m bogged down in work and bothered to no end that I have to concern myself with the end of the fiscal month. I’m bothered that the combination of the words fiscal and month were ever put before me.

I’m bone tired, dog tired, I’ve been tired. T-I-R-E-D spells it. I keep looking at things on my desk as if I’m expecting an answer, as if the stapler will tell my future with its black, boxy, body. I feel that in response to questions I’m turning my head slowly, that I’m moving in dream time. I find myself resting my head in my hands when I read an email. I’m yawning so long and hard it’s almost erotic.

I’ve got an empty coffee cup. I’ve got a bag of almonds. I’ve got a little, green plastic mermaid that’s designed to hang of the rim of a cup holding a cocktail and I wonder why I don’t go to bars that serve their drinks with little plastic things hanging off of them, or piercing food that’s in them. My typical bars don’t have little plastic cutlasses or monkeys or ring tailed lemurs. And as I yawn another porno yawn, I realize I would probably just choke on it in my mad rush to shove alcohol into my waiting maw.

I have a mad desire to walk up to a coworker and start writing on their face; perhaps the preamble to the Constitution. “We the people…”

I like that a preamble comes before a good regular amble.

I’ve got “I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me)” by Whitney Houston stuck in my head.