toast

I am a foggy brained mess today. Is this what we call a Case of the Mondays? And can one suffer from such an affliction if they are unemployed? All days are Saturdays to The Girl Without a Job (me). Saturdays are my least favorite day. So I guess unemployment really isn't funemployment. I guess truth is stranger than fiction. I guess I'm getting a little sick of fiction. I take a break by reading supposedly true tales of loneliness. I find myself saying, "Yeah! Someone else understands loneliness! Maybe I'm not so alone in my loneliness!" And then I continue to read, exacerbating my loneliness. A curious creature I happen to be. Let it be. To be or not to be. Save the bees. They do far more for the world than just provide sweetness to our single slice of burnt morning toast. Let's offer a toast for the bees. Let's get down on our sore knees and praise what we don't quite yet understand. Let's then stand up and stand for something noble. But don't just stand there, walk somewhere. Maybe walk to the store and buy a toaster that doesn't turn bread black. Not that there's anything wrong with being black. Look, what I'm trying to say is that I don't see color. I joke. I see color everywhere, normally, but lately my eyes have been too focused on the page and haven't spent enough time wandering around, stretching their legs, taking in new sights. My eyesight is failing me because I fail to branch out and see the trees. The only tree I see is the corpse of one in my hands. My hands will never be free of the blood of a thousand and three trees, but my conscience is clean, as clean as the streets in the city in my head. It's all bright lights up there, folks. I may seem dull, but the city never sleeps.