Sleeping Vicariously Through You
Voices echo unusually loud in the auditorium at 9 am. They bellow in psychological array of a mass delivery of [semi] important information. There are limits, pay attention. Someone keeps parking in the wrong lot. The inbox is not for suggestions. Corporate wants numbers. The coffee is bitter but does its job. It was free. My brain is elsewhere; with a heart at home still in bed, pillows wrapped around her head. Sales are better in the fall. Last quarter we were up, and now we’re down. Substantial memory loss is unavoidable at this hour of day. It all comes down to the numbers. Words blend together like never ending palindromes that bounce off the walls. My eyelids are heavy, my blood pumps through my veins like syrup. Timesheets need to be submitted by 2 pm. My heart operates remotely - from between bedsheets with envy. I am in control of my breathing. Data doesn't rest, even if our bodies need to. One, two, three, fourth quarter's a charm. In, out, repeat.