| So here it is. Another week gone by, yep....or has it been, I don't know. So just a thought: work. Work is not what they (they of course they, the mysterious they, the they of the them, and them they, and they them then) tell you it would be. Work is a very funny (funny not of the funny haha, not the Rita Runder funny, but more of the tickle smell when your about to sneeze funny). Hilarious is my life because I can write the same thing every day and not be lying. I get up, I got to work, I come home, I cook, I exercise, I sleep. Now here I am sitting typing on the intelligent idiot box waiting for..... nope.... Anyway, so to ah sum ah up ah, what was I talking about? I have no freaking idea.
My week, went to work on monday, went to work on tuesday, went to work on wednesday, went to small group on wednesday (by the bye, small group is awesome. I'm feeling very blessed to be in such a wonderful group of Christians. As they, yes they, say community is a gift not a given right). Thursday, ALBERT'S Birthday. Albert is my roommate. Tomorrow TGIF. I like where I work and the people I work with, and what is weird is that I feel that at work time passes faster. I feel like I don't have enough time to do all the things I want and then the weekend come and I repeat (eat, sleep, repeat).
He sits at the keyboard not really knowing what to say. What should he say anyway, the summary of a week compacted into neatly stacked lines of text arranged on and "electronic-page". Why does he write? To inform others of what goes on, he tells himself, smirk...smile...grin. Ahhh but alas, what if nothing goes on? What if the most exciting things that go on are ones that should not be put on an "electronic-page", what if the most exciting things that happen are the ones that occur in his head, what if the sights, smells, and sounds are his to hoard, but not out of selfishness, never, but simply a lack of imagination, a loss of motivation, but most importantly a stall of remembrances. Ahhhh. So he sits wondering what to write, comfortably straddling his chair, precariously balancing his tall blue cup on the edge of the table. Old bills and junk mail are beginning to form a small mound on the center of his desk, like fish on the deck of a boat flipping and tossing only to come to an uncomfortable position toppled on one another, gills spread for lack of water and painful last gasp. But here endith the lesson. |
