Friday morning at six o'clock as the day begins, laying there in mid-snore, the cats hope he gets out the door, but he tosses and turns and the cats lick him to no avail.
Folks, I fucking overslept on Friday. Clocked in at work at 7:22 a.m.. During the mad rush I hit every fucking red light and isn't that just the way things work out when you gotta be somewhere? I was a little afraid they were going to say he decided to quit and fuck-off until the final paycheck arrives in the mail. So I busted my ass and I think I might be the top guy again despite the lead held by one of the girls who wasn't fired.
I've been late to work four times including Friday.
Either way I might as well keep up appearances to avoid burning bridges.
I amused myself with the simple thought in this section's title. I mean seriously are they going to fire me for being late? That's like being sentenced to death for attempted suicide.
Yes gentle reader, I hear your exclamations of "B-b-but you never mentioned this person before! We've known you for years!" and "Sob! You horrible monster!"
Thing is that I was unaware that we would actually strike up a vigorous correspondence, playing catch up with the intervening sesquidecade and being surprised at the numerous parallels, tangents and other venn diagram-related euphemisms.
Perhaps someday in the near future I'll share the full tale with you, gentle reader. Until then please feel a touch of warmth knowing that the audience is a little less lonely than yesterday.
Funny part of this is the fact when I do find something good and involve myself into something pleasurable I'm like a supernova. All of a sudden I'm eager, excited and want to share this happiness because it's far too much for my ειδωλον. Yet I fear becoming burnt out. Rubbing something so much that it loses its lustre making me slothful and disinterested leading to self-accusations of being vain and shallow. Right now I feel so many things I want to say but measuring potential outcomes by the past makes me fear the future even more.
I wish I knew why I will put up with such discomfort which skates the edge of punishment. Am I trying to prove that I'm tougher than the nails digging into my meat? Do I have to prove myself as a strong person when I view myself as a quixotic rampaging ogre who is all bark and no bite? I constantly, constantly feel like I'm less than other people whether it's because they have completed a college education or they have the whole shebang of two houses, one car and a life partner when I'm still pretty much batching it (HI JAYBIRD) with two cats. Gotta say that I'm really not enjoying the former aspect.
The other night I had an important telephone call where I was sleepfully musing that I must've been an ascetic monk in a previous life if there truly is reincarnation. Truth be told, now and again, I do wonder even though I vigorously argue against such a paradigm. Still my imagination runs away with me. What if I knew my friends in another life and they're part of my jati or I'm part of their jati caught in their wake.
Ugh, now I'm rambling.
What if something was supposed to happen, never did and now a marginally-aware universe is trying to put right what once went wrong. Maybe the universe isn't sentient or aware but my subconscious is desperate for relief and happiness and I willingly yet subconsciously chose this path affirming that I am the master of my fate and the captain of my sou^H^H^H ειδωλον.
Seriously I wish that I had a greater capacity for perspicacity rather than having these words tease you, gentle reader, and forment frustration because words fail me. Even though it's probably girly there's "Back in Your Head". When you can't say it, sing it because music says what words can not convey.
Heard that somewhere.
Anyway I decided I was going to send an email from work and the subject "don't respond here, use my home email". When I got home and touched base I learned the email wasn't received at all!
It appears that it might've been intercepted and never arrived because the Yahoo bulk mail folder didn't have my message. Funny thing is that I emailed my personal yet professional email from work and both emails arrived safe and sound which makes me less anxious about people reading my emails.
Since I suspected such chicanery I did end the email with "WHAT ARE THEY GOING TO DO???? FIRE ME???"
That particular mantra has made me laugh, considering the situation, and normalized it rather than pushing me towards the slippery slope of anxiety.
Funny bit was that I was aware that my waking-life self was sleep talking using the gravelly voice I associate with Walter Kovacs.
One running theme of the dream was a trap. People would randomly be encased in bales of hay. Now these weren't particularly strong and even the littlest Who in Whoville could bust out like Superman from a Green Lantern's bonds.
The dream was set on a lonesome boardwalk along the Atlantic around Hallowe'en. I know it was Hallowe'en because there were kids walking around dressed up like Rorschach. Plus it was chilly.
