I woke up in somewhat of a daze. The room wasn't quite spinning, but it for sure wasn't the way I needed it to be. Why does this always have to happen? I turn my head towards the half-open bathroom door. I can hear the quiet pings of the water running from the cold, rusty faucet. Each drop resonates through my head like a freight train crashing through thick walls of brick and mortar. With each agonizing drop, I can feel the pieces of my sanity fall from my eyes like leaves of grass.
I need to get out of this shithole.
Once I manage to get moving, I'm usually OK. I like to call these little morning episodes "my little taste of insanity." It only happens when I drag myself out of bed in the morning. It's as if the world is trying to tell me something. Maybe the world has poor communicative skills, much like myself. Either way, I'd like to murder the morning.
Time to get to work... fuck.
I spend my days trapped in a cell of cheap leather and plastic. Even the smell of my workspace makes me want to kill a dozen of my overeager constituents. I won't bother explaining exactly what it is that I do for a living, but I will say that there is only so much vacuous busy work that an individual can stand. I passed that threshold years ago. Now, I know what you're thinking... I'm not some depraved jerkoff that wants to run around his office spraying 44 caliber ammunition into his peers like it was a computer game. Well, not all the time at least. I figure someday I will probably rot in this cubicle.
Time slowly, but deliberately lurches forward.
The greatest part of my day comes when I get to see her. I can tell when she's coming. I lean forward a little bit and try to pay attention to the footsteps around me. I can feel them vibrate around the soles of my shoes. Short paces, long paces, stuttering paces... wait, there she is. I can always tell its her. As she glides through the office, her feet tap at the ground with a unique rhythmic artistry that is impossible to define, but impossible to deny. She's coming closer. I can even smell the faint spike of her perfume in the air around me... it's faint, but it's there. As her steps become louder and louder between my ears, my pulse begins to rise. Each step kicks at my heart just as if she were kicking it around herself like a child kicking a can.
Just like the child, she doesn't know what she's doing to me.
She passes by my cubicle without stopping... without thinking... without even looking. I usually pride myself in my ability to blend in... to assimilate. But on days like these, it would be nice to maybe catch a split-second glance. Just a glance. Just a glance. Just a glance.
