scribbled on a couch

Everything's a production
when you're late - run around,
"Go get that signed", jump and jog, "Pick up her scrawl."

Nothing flows like it should,
no one's present where they should,
sometimes I could...
just scream. Wake everyone.

Because in this play
the players've forgotten the lines,
the props are gone and the
scenes are a mess, the reviews
aren't back but I know what
they'll be, so I don't bother
bitching about the details. "Man," they'll say,
"Man, your life is drama."

pathetic obscure notes

Chem prof down, three to go, and two would have been if I was agressive, on bastard pills. I need a break, not from work, but from fucking up.