Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Death of a Salesman

I'm having trouble concentrating.

I can't even say that I have a lot going on right now. I mean, there's work, which I kind of hate. But that's supposed to be getting fixed soon. (hopefully) They said by the end of the week, but who knows? No one can be trusted. I need the time. I really do.

At least I think I do.

It's hot outside. and it's sort of killing me. Is it horrible that when I look out the window I curse the shiny grass, the brightness that chokes the air? Anymatter, I need to fix my watch. The whirring of fans distracts me.

my iPod is dead.

On the day I felt was somewhat worthy, I ruined it. Low clouds, gray and angry. That's my kind. By the time I reached the cemetery I was drenched, not sweat, but rain. I couldn't see. But I rode on.
I 'd forgotten that my dear music maker and my nerve-wracker were laying in my basket.


and of course the one I truly care for was the one who left me.

I can't concentrate. it's nothing about trouble now.

It's august. and i'm dying.

the closer I get the more angry I feel.


you know why.

You're not listening. So it's probably a good thing I'm not trying to be heard.

Except that I am, but not in the way you think.

I should clean my room. But I can't. Not now

I should think of more, but I'm drawing blanks.

My iPod is dead.

I can only hope that the electronic gods will accept the sacrifice of my communicator in place of bringing him back to life.

I never use it, but to check the time.

I need to fix my watch.

I'm having trouble concentrating...


Bethany said...


Rae said...

I love this stream of consciousness. I usually can't put my chronic concentration issues into words, but you did so brilliantly. I'm so sorry you're feeling this way. It truly is terrible.