Yesterday was the longest Monday.
It's not that it was awful.
It just went on and on. Like in the movies. Like in 24 Hours.
The head was foggy, unwillingly adjusting back to the weekday 7-hour sleep cycle.
I'm glad there's work to be done-
Countless cells to be linked, links to be fixed.
Right about lunch time there was an overseas interruption.
Throwing me into a helpless heap - of decisions and dreams to be made, directions to be found, feet to be planted.
I spent 10 minutes crying in the toilet afterwards.
The rest of the work day went on in a fuzzy heathered sort of way.
Not wanting to be spoken to.
I detected that others sensed it too.
I met an ex-colleague at Robot for drinks.
Drained pale.
I absorbed the talk about wives who stay home, white lies one tells the partner, ethnic supremacy, blah.
And when that became too much to bear I wandered to the bar.
I think Japan is calling.
All this about dreams, films, and bartenders-
An escape package.
It's true, even the feng-shui book says I should work overseas.
Tonight I'm sorry that I was angry.
That I turned it back onto you and called foul.
Because 25 years should have taught me better.
I'm so sorry.