I have three hours to write two articles. The empty bottle looks nice. That balm is almost empty. And look how polished and shiny this desk is. I lost one piece of my earphones and determined to dismantle the useless piece of shit later. I think Avalon players are cry babies. That figurine of Thor doesn’t look right. I miss the boyfriend’s beard.
I need to write at least one poem.
I need this cold to go away soon. I wonder how gummy bears could give me headaches. Or a bottle of yoghurt drink could fuck me up for two weeks. My throat is a petri dish of streptococcus. I’ll go to the beach soon, that’s nice.
I check the mac and its saying 3:47, I stopped giving a damn. Maybe the muses will rapid-fire my tickle-tools at 5 am. I love how Pat also goes through bottles and bears. And oh how Hannah is awesome. There are so many interesting things in the world, but not enough interesting people to get interested in them. There’s a shortage of functioning genes for the right interests. Interest-ception.
My head is beginning to throb. Joe Brewer is back. I hope things get better in the morning. A little worry out of the way. Maybe the bed will make itself. A hopeful empty promise for one more day.
It’s 3:51. I better get back. And find more relevant sentences. Oh how Thor’s cape is perfectly red..
photo credit: pexels
Hopscotch Memoirs 