It’s a morning on the day known as the day of Mon. Well, it’s known as Monday, but that is beside the point.
Next to me sits my jacket in a form that does not necessarily imply that it is indeed one, but you can still tell.
It curves around itself and kind of piles up, also on itself.
The patterns in the wood of the desk trace lines across its surface that is visible to me.
Almost as tho-ugh they are animals migrating across a vast landscape, but if they indeed were, then there movement is unacceptably slow and I am far too large to even be able to bear proper witness to the spectacle.
In front of me sits a receptacle. Its contents involve a liquid needed for sustenance. It is going to help keep me hydrated throughout the day.
That contents is called… water.
For some reason I am having a great deal of difficulty typing this morning. I d not understand as I am warm and I am ready,.
There’s only one thing that may reveal as to why. Wait. There isn’t.
Maybe I’m just out of practise, or something.
I do know that part of my jaw hurts and it is only getting worse. This is not something that I am wanting to deal with at the moment. Still, it will, with time, pass away and then I shall be free to roam around and work my jaw more, or something.
Something something something.
Maybe I’m getting ill. Maybe that is why the mouse stands ready for its use by my hand, but… I got nothing.
On another note, the black box that is the computer that I need to use vibrates, but only very subtly. I can only feel the vibrations when I touch it. Otherwise there is nothing there. It does not seem to exist without some form of human contact.
MY eyes are awake and I am trying to weave some sort of poetry into my current environment, but the poetry just isn’t coming and all that is ,left to do is laugh and wait, but I can’t do much in the way of laughing due to the aforementioned sore jaw.
I probably shouldn’t be in work and instead resting, but the need to make the money in order to keep on living trumps the need to rest and relax.
These are the joys of working casual and the joys of being independent.
Oh, how I wish I could be dependent once more!
Oh, how much easier my life would be!
Actually, I’d rather the struggle of living life as an independent adult. Not sure, why. Just would.
There you go. There’s some poetry in that. Much more than what I was trying to strive for earlier.
There’s probably more poetry in that than most things I’ve written in recent times. Make of that what you will.
Well, the time is about to tick over. I guess it is time to work.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 06:57:59
This was really hard to write.
It seems that my hands were not working.
Written at work.