Thursday Afternoon Suit Blues
12:37 p.m. x 2009-10-08
The air pumping in and out of dust clogged vents. Humming around your head with the promise of warmth. Yet we all still wear coats. And the dust will settle on your potted silk plant that you keep on the edge of your desk. A reminder that there is something alive out there, yet sometimes you can't remember anything but plastic. Fingers flying accross ancient yellowing keyboards sounding out spreadsheets and slideshows and Facebook updates. Your status changed to "wonders what it would feel like when I hit the ground." Maybe your headache would finally go away. Dissapear with the rush you feel on the way down. Surround yourself with post-it notes, elastic bands and the smell of premanent markers; wishing that you were wasting your life out there instead of here. Nauseous from the fumes and the phone calls.