when i was bored

'so i thought i had gotten the job, when actually, i hadn't, even though i had completely been given the impression that i had...'
her oil-slick black polished nails are melting and dripping off in globs. it bothers me terribly that they're falling onto the carpet.
'...gave me a ring back four days later. can you believe it? four days. so i told him...'
even though i remember her face in some hazy distant reality as being quite round and buttery, wherever i am now is focusing a lense on her, darkening the shadows around her, spotlighting her. she looks feline, pronounced waxy bones in her face leading to creeping blackness. it's possible that she looks better to me now than she usually does, but i wouldn't expect myself to know.
'...professional opinion, it's appalling. leaving something that long. they're a business for goodness' sakes, how do they expect...'
if i had the presence of mind to be bored, i would be.
'...because i've got another interview lined up you see, it's more me, more what i want to be doing, because i've got to focus on me now...'
clicking fingernails type in the front of my head, and i feel like if i close my eyes i can dampen the sound with wet eyelids. alas, to no prevail, the noise clicks on. supine, i flex on the floor and feel my corpuscules, my musculature writhe and shift ever so fluidly. working how a human body is meant to and all. the angle i look from is the angle of the hunter; crouched to the ground, so much in sync with the prey. if the prey were wearing maraschino lipstick and a post-ironic bob and wouldn't stop fucking talking.
'...time of life, you know?'
no, i don't know actually. i stopped knowing at precisely the same point as i stopped caring, which was quite some time ago.
'... about me. that's what i've decided to do, decisions based on me, on my interests. you only live once and all. it's time for me to really get to...'
velcro is ripping up and down my spine as i curl onto my side, pulling my knees towards my chin and settling into a foetal position. a glass jar next to me makes no indication that it knows what is going on. i'm the same as that glass jar.
'... personal life, because it's not all about fun any more. all of this business with the economy makes me feel like i need to grow, you know?'
if you say that one more time i'll scream. the autumn creeps into my head, and colours my circuitry. synapses glow with maple syrup and fallen leaves; electrical impulses flash like stormy skies and lightning. a glass window into my head would show a park, damp, dappled and golden. pulsing hot embers on a bonfire are relocating from my head to my chest. i feel a residual warmth, and the beating pulse of a fire when i inhale. if only i looked a fifth as magnificent as i felt. warm cherry skins peel themselves from my gooey heart as the vodka i've just been fed sears its way down.
'... happy? i'm pouring it down your stupid neck for you, just like you want because that's all you want isn't it, booze, booze, booze. you're so fucking predictable and boring, how do you live? all you ever do...'
my mind generously disconnects after this, sending me into a reverie that is both soothing and deadening. it's a terrible business, the twenty first century, but it's the business i'm in. i blame the gameshows, the double entendres, the childcare, the posters, the saturated fats, the literature, the elitisim, the politics, the icecaps and the fucking rainforest for the state that i'm in. if the world wasn't such a dreadful place maybe i wouldn't have to be so dreadful in it.







i don't know whose perspective this is written from, i find it easiest just to write esoterically. don't judge me.