The obligatory morning slap of the keys

The obligatory morning slap of the keys and black sans letters across the white canvas. Nothing looks quite right once the canvas is marred by my fumblings of the moment. Moments throughout the week of being almost paralyzed with gloom from watching the day tick by at an agonizingly slow pace, while knowing that all who work around me are not interested in my halting attempts to socialize. No more patient faces to greet my ideas and humor–they fired or laid them all off–or those faces proved to be utterly polite, even patronizing.

My sense of humor seems to be almost impossible for anyone to grasp–most people are too literal, and few get how much I’m willing to poke fun at myself lightly, thinking I must be some kind of masochistic self mutilator.

It’s in the moment of the wearying nod, the smile that is rapidly fading as muscles are forced to hold it in place–it’s in that moment you really see how someone values you.

Tripping through a few old e-mails, last cleaned the gmail folder right before Mom died. Some random apology to D, and a wordy rebuke for something I said to her the night before. I can hardly remember what we were fighting about most of the time. It’s like that with a lot of things. You get so emotionally and personally attached to a person or work, and then when they’ve booted you from their space you can hardly recall what charged your passions toward them.

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