.without the sun.
In the morning, a hornet buzzes through the window invading my dreamspace. I hear the sound of it from cataclysm and anarchy and a parade with a pink convertible and bloodstains. I throw a book, or a pair of underwear, or a shoe, I can't remember, in the direction of the noise, but it only intensifies as it moves closer to my bed. It is summer--as summer as it gets in Oregon. It's summer and there's fire on the grill, beer in the fridge, and sun is hot, hot, hot.
Yesterday, at work, I had a client raise a fist and try to hit me. This is not uncommon with my line of work, nor is it uncommon for this client, but it was uncommon for this Friday.
It was uncommon for my workmate to just bail.
It was uncommon for my friday to end on such a low note.
It is uncommon for me to crawl into bed and wonder if I need this job.
Yesterday, at work, I had a client raise a fist and try to hit me. This is not uncommon with my line of work, nor is it uncommon for this client, but it was uncommon for this Friday.
It was uncommon for my workmate to just bail.
It was uncommon for my friday to end on such a low note.
It is uncommon for me to crawl into bed and wonder if I need this job.