Month: August 2018

Damn Anxiety

I’m here, I made it. I could clock in early and start my day. After Friday’s episode I have a lot of apprehension. So I sit and stare at this cup of coffee, half decaf, half regular because the regular side of the machine gave me watery brown liquid unworthy to be called coffee.

In 3 minutes I’ll punch the clock. I’ll take this medication for my anxiety and hope today goes way better than Friday.

Three minutes-today’s menu is simple. Hot dogs, baked beans, sauerkraut. Breakfast isn’t too bad either.

Two minutes- in the back of my mind I am worried about what my coworkers will think, I shouldn’t

One minute- I am waiting to hear some news, I have been checking my email more frequently than usual. I need to take this medication, my anxiety is starting to flare.

Times up, I have to go for now.

Clocking in

Here I am, fourteen minutes before my shift starts. The hum of soda machines envelope me in sweet noise. I turned off the blasted blaring TV just to have a few moments to write… I have had so many creative ideas these last few weeks but I have been preoccupied. These glaring florescent lights irritate me… but they are on some some sort of a motion detector. This morning’s breakfast consists of scrapple, donuts, scrambled eggs, and oatmeal. Lunch is bbq chicken potato salad, and I don’t know what else.

As I write my mind keeps traveling to my wife. She is so beautiful. We had a baby free weekend last week and it was the best feeling in the world to laugh and just be our old crazy selves again. I cant get the sensation of caressing her brown skin out of my mind… I sure hope today goes by quickly, her soft lips have me even more distracted.

Its 5:23, technically I can clock in and start my day. Should I? Or should I write for another seven minutes. Sometimes (as much as I hate it) I’ll post from my phone just for the sake of placing meaningful words together(also to put a post up if it’s been a while). I usually write my poems down in a composition book, then type them up, proofread them and such, then post. Now all I’m thinking about is the lady of my life and that sexy outfit she had on yesterday.

It is almost that time-four more minutes until I am a slave once again to the demands of the man(not necessarily any white pereon, just the boss). Three more until I begin to sweat and my mind checks out of the Warm and Fuzzy Hotel and into madness… cooking can be that way sometimes. I cook for over 100 residents… It is 5:29, I must go now. Tell my wife I love her, I’ll be thinking of her and tell…..