Isn't It Always The Way
Written this morning at work:
I do not have a pen today, so obviously it is the one day I feel the compulsion to write the strongest. Letters to friends and family (the kind I'll never send), notes to future and past Colleens (I have a folder of these), important things for my co-workers (you're doing it wrong!) and a clever little story about hot air ballooning which followed me to work from the bus (where all my clever ideas come from). Eh, c'est la vie.
The words run through my head like tiny track stars (what a visual). The more I write down, the thicker and darker they grow back (a disturbing visual of hydras with offensive body hair appears in my mind while I pause to stretch my hands). Where are these words when I try to speak? Why do they fly from me then?
And then my supervisor pulled me off the phones for four and half hours and I did nothing until they let me leave. Three cheers for productivity.
I do not have a pen today, so obviously it is the one day I feel the compulsion to write the strongest. Letters to friends and family (the kind I'll never send), notes to future and past Colleens (I have a folder of these), important things for my co-workers (you're doing it wrong!) and a clever little story about hot air ballooning which followed me to work from the bus (where all my clever ideas come from). Eh, c'est la vie.
The words run through my head like tiny track stars (what a visual). The more I write down, the thicker and darker they grow back (a disturbing visual of hydras with offensive body hair appears in my mind while I pause to stretch my hands). Where are these words when I try to speak? Why do they fly from me then?
And then my supervisor pulled me off the phones for four and half hours and I did nothing until they let me leave. Three cheers for productivity.