The booster has been running through my veins for about ten hours. I cannot mentally move things, change things, or create things. I have to still do work. What a sham.
The truth is, I’m late because I was waiting for a call that said that the office was on fire.
I’m so tired of being poor and unimportant.
“I could be so much better if I could only bring myself to care.”
I once asked my dad why he backed into parking spots when we went to church. He kept his eyes forward as we walked from the back of the parking lot to the church’s front door. “Quicker exit,” he said, and I think about this as I pull into the parking lot at work and watch the side mirrors as I back myself into a corner spot.
But when the time came, and I chose to close my notebook and lace up one of my three pairs of running shoes, I discovered that the hope was nothing more than that—a wish for an untrue thing to be true. Honestly, I have to confess, I’m not sure if I like actually running or if I just prefer it to sitting in front of a blank sheet of paper attempting (and failing) to be special.
I’ve decided to work from bed today.
“Let’s start by going around and saying our names and an uninteresting but amusingly presented fact about ourselves.”
If I take a few wrong turns, I could end up in Canada instead of at work.
Well, the good news is that there is a lot of room to not be so dumb.