Here I find myself once again at the end of a shift where I have worked overtime.
Once again I find myself not feeling hungry but at the same time feeling hungry and now I’m writing gibberish.
I’m currently forcing myself to write as I really don’t feel like it but I know that I’ll feel better when I’m done writing this little bit and whilst I cannot deny that it will have a lot to do with the fact that I’ll be heading home and feeling much more relaxed, I also can’t deny that sometimes I feel better once I’ve written something.
I don’t think that’s weird, as it really isn’t as writing can be a good form for venting.
I’d like to walk home all the way from work one day.
I’d probably walk all the way to work in the morning first though, just to test the viability of it.
With that being said, how I’d feel in the morning would most likely be vastly different to how I’d feel in the evening and therefore not a good representation as to whether I’d be up for doing it after finishing a long, grueling day of being the greatest at what I do in the history of forever, reshaping my role as I break into new territory and continually reinvent the position as I refine and define it.
Sometimes being the greatest at everything forever is hard, but someone has to do it.
Maybe I’ll grab a flamingo and show it how to waltz as I sip my cup of pure being as you need to know the subtleties of breaking the nth mental barrier when it comes to shrugging shoulders, knowing whether a shrug too soft is going to disappoint or a shrug too hard is going to damage the ceiling.
If I peddled backwards half the way to sea and then slowly walked up the bowling alley of life towards a single brown rose telling me that it’s alright whilst I keep telling myself it’s alright unless dominoes eat the hair of spite, I think I could do a good job of reminding those that do not blink that you’ve got to take a dive into the grassy hill and sinking feeling that lets us know that cranial pursuits are a knowledgeable fruit beyond the darkness that kisses the feet of the sheep that don’t have hooves to make them feel much better about themselves.
Sometimes I wonder how many balls people are tripping over, as so many people are apparently “tripping balls”.
Maybe balls have legs that are invisible and have balancing issues and instead the issue is that people are tripping them over through some non-malicious act to prevent a greater threat.
Slipping away from the light and slowly disintegrating, becoming non-existence whilst simultaneously joining a collective consciousness or ascending to a higher plane of existence.
Not filled with panic but acceptance, slowly rising, rising into a greater, more wondrous unknown.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 8:49:64
Yet another written at work.
I may have been able to do it about one minute faster.
I did have to pause a couple of times to think about what I was writing.