Sitting

Sitting.

Typing.

3:17 pm.

Urgh.

An hour and 13 minutes to go.

Mom just called.

She's on her way to work.

Wishful glances out the window.

Sprite tastes good.

Sitting.

Wanting to call boyfriend.

The line's busy.

Darn.

3:21 now.

Looking around pointlessly at various objects.

Crack my neck.

Thinking about fireworks tonight.

Thinking about how hot it is outside.

Thinking about how artificially cool it is inside.

Thinking about boyfriend.

Thinking about what I'm typing.

I'm alone.

Nobody is in my office.

My boss is taking a vacation day.

I have nothing to do.

Looking at clock.

Looking at white car outside.

Hearing keys jingling in someone's pocket as they walk by my door.

I want to read the Hobbit.

It's out in the car.

It's too hot to go out in the car.

And I haven't asked yet.

I'll stay in the artificial cool.

I wonder what I'm going to be when I grow up.

I wonder what I'll buy with the money I earn from this job.

Electric Guitar.

Navel rings.

Clothes.

Sprite.

Sprite tastes good.

BORED.

My other boss walks by.

I smile.

3:27 now.

Blech.

Tired of laminating index cards.

Worn out from shredding paper.

Hand hurts from cutting so many papers with the paper cutter.

Back hurts from hunching over a filing cabinet for an hour and a half trying to find "Hoskins, James".

Cracking my neck.

Look over my shoulder.

I want to swim right now.

Sausage sounds good right now.

Sitting. Typing.

BLAH.

End of the day.

Lag time.

3:31 pm.

An hour and 29 minutes to go.

Work sucks.