I’m late to work.
I slept late last night. I got up late this morning. And I’m late to work now.
I woke up to my second alarm, which is just 20 minutes later than my first. And yet I know it is going to ruin my day. Probably.
While making breakfast, I listen to songs instead of the podcast I am supposed to. While eating breakfast, I watch an episode of The Office. And then one more.
I get onto the Metro, still 20 minutes late.
The Metro screams into the underground station, hurling itself into the heart of the cesspool of humanity that calls itself this City.
Pressed on 14 sides by 27 people, I try and type out a quick draft of this post on my phone.
The many layers of clothing everyone’s wearing to protect themselves from the outside cold have now turned to wearable coffins.
One guy has his face pressed precariously close to my cell phone screen. I’m not sure if he’s reading what I’m writing about him.
Maybe he is, because he makes the effort to twist his head in an awkward angle to stare at my face.
That’s right, look at me. Look right into my eyes. Can you see in their puffy veins the bloody remains of all the hours I couldn’t sleep last night?
There are so many things we constantly seek answers to. Life, relationship, job, these are all essentially questions.
You are looking for their answers. I’m looking for their answers. But the one question really bearing me down right now is this:
How should I end this post?
Featured image from here.