All day has been a migration from one tedium to another. Your head flocks with grouses.
When Tuesday opens the door to see you on the couch, the questions will start: What's wrong? Did you have a tough day? Did you drop off that thing? Did you email those people and get that other thing cleared up that was bothering you? How did that meeting thing go? Did you eat something else besides that Rice Krispie Treat thing you had for lunch?
You sink further into the couch. You won't have any answers - at least, not any right ones.
The footsteps reach the landing, the key scratches its way into the lock.
Tuesday appears and closes the door. Tuesday looks pretty bad.
Your own questions flutter up. They are nearly identical to the ones you imagined Tuesday would ask.
The two of you look at each other for a moment. Then Tuesday shuffles over to the couch and sits next to you. You feel Tuesday's head on your shoulder, and the two of you sit not speaking - only the neighborhood sounds filter in through the half open window, and a burst of birds flies away from a tree just outside.
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1 comment:
My favorite band singing my favorite song
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