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"get back to work"
i said excuse me and all the heads in the room swiveled toward me and my heart was beating like a baby bird as i stumbled over what i had to say, trying to sound at the same time firm and not rude; and i sat down, and nothing happened and i thought about pacing, but then didn't and wondered and felt my heart slow down a little, and blinked my bleary eyes and tried not to hate my job.
"unproductivity"
i'm thrashingly angry!
grinding my teeth at my tired, worn self
at the work i haven't done
at the hours that don't exist for me to be with you.
my heart collapses, caves in
because you have to work
because i have to work
because i feel like i keep getting torn out of your fingers
i get a 20 minute taste of what spending the night with you would be like
then it's over
i want to beat my fists
and pound my head on the steering wheel
as i drive home alone and unsatisfied one too many times
and it won't be the last time.
it feels
so
unfair
that i can't help seething
and tensing my muscles
and defiantly, aggressively
playing solitaire.
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