Fucking Fazed

There is fazed, and the more commonly used - unfazed. This dude today was definately fazed. To protect the possibly embarraced, I am going to change the name of the hero of my story to Ed. My workspace has changed recently. It used to be a regular Office Space nightmare. Rows of efficient cubicles. No color to speak of. Uniformly uniform. Recent relocations have thrown the norm out the window and now our workspaces are a pieced together jigsaw remnicent of the the barricade built by revelutionaries in Paris. Peices of desk tacked together with lawfuly monitered space between them.

I first noticed Ed by his voice. His usual nasal monotone was now squeaky and tense. Raspy and whispering. He was hanging like a scarecrow over the top of my bosses "half cube", obviously trying to communicate with him. His shirt untucked and tie in hand. He was not okay. The Boss had him sit down in one of the shitty folding chairs. Now I could see his face. Now I could see there was a problem. The usual pale with red splotch combo was at work here, but in reverse. His face was bright red with white splotches. Lips really pale, almost bluish. His eyes looked like a fish's. Red and poppoing. His hands wouldn't stay still. Stiff like talons they tore along his scalp like a rake.
"So itchyyyy."
He sounded like he had a rat in his mouth. His breathing was laboured and he was heaving deeply into each breath, dangling perilously close to a full blown motherfucker of a panic attack.

I caught the Boss's gaze. He was wondering how he could transport himself to another dimension. A dimension that did not have Ed, his panic attack or the impending PowerPoint presentation that this little fiasco was going to fuck up. He was slack jawed and useless.

Coffee

Don't tell anyone.
It's a secret.
Burger King has really fucking good coffee.

The Hour

This is the hour. The hour between when my co-workers go to lunch and when I go. The first break in the day where the dust settles and I can focus on other things. There is not too much dust lately. Not a lot going on. The corporation I work for is in the middle of a massive reorganization, as I am. I feel like everything is doing that. Reality shifting. Things going in and out of focus without any control. One day the pain, pressure and yearning in my chest and head is replaced by calm and straightforward trajected thinking. Unmovable and monstrous issues and problems have turned featherweight and can be pushed aside with a breath. Such is my mind. How can I trust my own head when the decisions I've made may have been weighted with imaginary gravitas? The highs and lows are very clearly defined, but the mania is still a mystery. Are my decisions, which I know can be destructive personally, financially and emotionally, (to not only myself), based on fact? On blind faith that what I want to happen will? Is it really supposed to be to chaotic? Torturous? Black and dark? Is it really supposed to feel this way? Where is the promised Light? The redemption and swelling music. Are the tears that are my fault worth nothing? Thoreau said "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation." Who are the men that did not? Whose lives did they fuck up to be so pure and without despair? Does that exist?

Camera Phone Impressions

Camera broken.

Phone has camera.

I see stuff when I should be selling other stuff.

If You Have a Couple Of Hours ...

Coming Soon ...