almost a year ago!

Look at that. And it's still here. Like a dusty old notebook with vague little secrets in it that I have to think hard to remember what the hell i was talking about.
Here's a nugget.
I'm at my internship waiting for my 11 oclock to show. I don't think he will at this point. But I found a small weak tired voice so I wrote a little something.

This is the moment where I haven't
been writing for hours but
my wrist hurts.
This is the point at which I think
"damn, I'm not running
fast enough", in a dream.
These are the somatic aches, caused
not by physical pain but
mental, friggin, anguish.
My pace is hampered by exhaustion.
I look around and see ability, agility...
Is it my motivation?
Is it my genetically defunct circulation?
Yesterday's precipitation?
Outside forces' agitation?
Practically paralyzed, I realize
I wrote again.
My flower in the cold stiff weeds
of my over-scheduled, over-processed, under-indulged
lifestyle.
Oh, no. Does this mean two years from now
I'll be hunched over my desk
between two cubicle walls and yell
"you told me we weren't doing this forever!"
"Calm down", I say.
No sense in getting mad at yourself.
It's just another day, in the life of me, in my
Crisis State.

Ya it's not publishing material but who cares. It's honest and very very very very accurate. Very.
All for now. I need to eat something. I have my supervisor scheduled to breathe down my neck at 1.