Talking to Myself

Where is that train? I'm running late again.... If only something would be good for once. Ugh, 3:30, still late.... how many minutes now? 15, great. So here I am, sitting in a subway, looking at graffiti-covered walls. Does that say what I think it says? I don't wanna say it.

This is INSANE! I'm still here, 30 minutes late, talking to myself. What could be worse? I don't even want to speak of it. Do di bop di bop di bop, do di bop di bop di bop. OOOOWOHOOOOOOWOHOOOOOOOOOOO, OOOOHHOOOOOOHHOOOWOH. UGH GET OUT OF MY HEAD!

1 hour. 1 hour. Still no sight of that dang train. I wonder what my boss is thinking about.Get ready for demotion, or maybe even getting fired. No time for promotion, always, demotion.

30 minutes past. Still talking to myself. This greatly insane. Woah, that guy with the newspaper looks worried. I wonder what went wrong. Ahah! Always the first to glimpse at a paper. Ok, process time. This is bad. Really bad.

Okay, no wonder I was late, Train collisions don't happen often, I'd best call a taxi.

30 minutes later. Yes, finally at work. Happy day. Or sad, in my opinion. Eileen, she was always the most weirdest girl at work. All I can do to that lobby-girl, is smile and wave.

Elevator music. You gotta hate it. Especially when it's one of those sloooooooow songs that make your "inner feelings" consume the soul. Why did I just say that. AAAAKKWAAARRRDD.

It's the end of the level. The big boss. Everyone hates him, everyone mocks him, everyone wants to lay a sucker punch on him. Even me. Here he is, but, but, he's calm? THATS CRAZY! Wait, thats not my boss. It must be my new one. Great! I got this one covered!

Walking home, happy day. My two dogs are waiting! Chloe, the St. Bernard and Milkbone, the Chihuahua. Work was great today, no problemo. On the stress scale, I'd be at -34982768290768504276852409650276, If I wanted to.

Foooooood! Doooooog Foooooooood IS GOOD FOR DOOOOOOOOOOOOOO- cut that out. Right then, here you go, and here. Three years I haven't noticed my dog go this fast at eating. There is only one explanation. Mr. Cuddlebuns is at my door. That cat eats like a rat, smells like a rat, I think it IS a rat. But that doesn't stop Milkbone from chasing it. The door's closed anyway.

Bedtime, the most relaxing part of the day. I never noticed the chain of days that keep going over and over. I get up, Go to Work, Get home, Feed dogs, Watch TV, Go to bed. Dull. And It seems all this time, I've been talking to myself.