Wednesday, November 6, 2002


Red bird singing like a vixen

Sleep interrupted
As a bullet
Through my dream

My unconscious
Meets the light
The volatile orb
Pushed me to life

Beast emerges
Conscious takes Over.
Oh, The drudgery of
The everyday thrust

Why, light Have you come?

You know my real heaven
Is behind my eyes
Work be gone!

My true love is the moon, the drunken nightingale, and the bed I seize at dark.

My life is to dream
My work is to believe,
My love is to sleep.

And so here I am, at the end of one of those days. You know the sort. Actually, I had a terrible falling out with my boss... and the deal fell through. What deal? The big one. The deal that I'd been working on for months. We had big, bad, money breathing people coming, too. And this would happen in the town dedicated to gossip. I feel depressed at his failure to see what he's done, but at the same time I have a much lighter heart and mind, as I send out my resume to potentially lovelier, nicer, brighter, more together, intelligent companies. (Yes, I walked out on him today, quitted on the spot... to his rage.) I want to be appreciated. I want to love my job. Good lord, that must be plausible?

Clearly, I'm experiencing a Mid-Week CrisisTM.