what is it that makes tears well up as I lay here praying I could fall asleep. It is the countless hours I put in trying to help others survive? the mass array of hours we've all been putting in at the office lately for little reward? Perhaps it's a build up of these eventful past six hours. Although the rest of the work world may treat this day as Friday- my head pounds as if it were a typical sunday night. Lay on the couch trying to push yourself through Sunday nights game, but you feel tired, frustrated, and worst of all practically pregnant- sick to your stomach from the weekends menu, overtired, gassy & uneasy. On the way side, knowing you have to plug away at the mojo wire for another five days practically puts you at the foot of the toilet.
I feel livid deep inside, but for what reasons, I never really can seem to surface. This tired Tuesday afternoon had me looking forward to a night similar to those of the recent past- a few cocktails, dallas' best sushi, and nice time spent with a seemingly significant other - but I shouldve expected the previous to be set off balance once the indigenous business partner had been asked to join us over brief attorney speculation at the Stoneliegh p. Mind you, this is all after rushing home from work only to forget that Yankee company was arriving this evening, and no spare clothes lay in my trunk, nor my apartment clean.
I'd given up on the idea of nice time spent alone so decided to drag Michael along anyway- I do quite enjoy his entertaining company and musical preferences alike. The forty minutes spent waiting on gui's sushi were spent mostly conversing about accounts receivable and myself trying to slip in the hopeful upcoming of Roger Waters "the wall"- at this point in time that's the only place I really care to be, besides laying on great grandmothers cherry oak bed with my piper.
This intriguing dinner left me hopeful that perhaps since he knew I'd been patient all night, we'd proceed home to where animalistic promises could be fulfilled, but as soon as I remove this Tuesday's tightening skirt and lay my head on the pillow, this piece of shit phone vibrates with such great news from the child barren Yankee. " Are you here, or did you forget to leave the key?"
Yes, that's right. While so anxiously waiting to see what could have possibly enthralled me in this now quiet, quiet bedroom I now lay in, I had to get back up, put the uncomfortable- but still sexy- skirt back on, clasp the double-buckled heels back and drive back to Prescott ave, make small talk, and bring them my key. Some may think it's funny but I've found myself in these situations quite frequently.
An what happened after closing my door behind them you ask? I text the exuded man back by the hidden door if he is asleep, and no response, so yes- still no hanky panky, but at least this stand in mojo wire has kept hidden the tears that just might this man awake..
