Here ye shall find the last typed words of Andrew Collins, Convergys employee. I see my time as an working man, once again, dwindling down to a matter of minutes. Twenty-eight, at this point, and I seem to have run out of things to do. Sort papers, recycle said sorted sheets, clear out email, and stuff free candy into my already bulging pockets.
Though not nearly as sad a departure as I had originally anticipated it is fairly nauseating to think that I have no idea when my next real job will be.
Well, not quite nauseating but, not far from it.
At this point I imagine the sensation would be comparable to what you feel hanging your toes over the edge just before an eight-story base jump. I know most people would advise a running start, but I just can't seem to find the strength in my legs. Or the balance. Only the morbid tempting of the inevitable.

But please don't push.
I'll be airborne soon enough.
And damn the ground.

So she says to me, " I guess I won't see you again. Well, not till you come back with youngsters."
Then he says, " I'm doing a course on landmine awareness. I'll give you my text before you go. You're going to need it."

I hate my friends.
All of them.
Except Jack.
It's not considered drinking alone if your drink has a name, right?

For this evenings performance I would ask you all join me, mentally if not rhetorically, on the rough and faded plain of an old church pew. Here you can lose yourself in the joyous cries of endorphin bliss.
While a quick roll to the window reveals the faint sound of weeping and gnashing of cigarettes, a long roll back will let us watch for falling prices.
Open your lips and embrace the goodness of Welches and Wonderbread. Close your teeth and clench your eyes to find the clearest convolution of John Q. Normal perspective.
This is a place of man.
But this gouging revelation doesn't hold near the nauseating horror of my younger years.
This is a place of man.
It was here by sight I revoked my faith.

And now I am happy all the day.

Procrastination

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