must sleep.

Some people spend their lives begging for some sort of commitment with out actual deep connections with people. Superficial love if you may. See what they want to see. Love what they want to love, try and change what they cannot love, and beg you not to leave.
Other people connect to you. See you. Accept you for you. And love you. But cannot afford to make commitments.

In my place of employment I meet all sorts of characters. Mostly because
A) it’s new and
B) 2) I’m out of my house, my mind.
C) It’s a people person job…

I enjoy my job. So far.
If they would only get my name right.

The people I could do without. A certain Wendy has “taken me under her wing” She travels. She has worked there for some time.
She try’s to find things to talk to me about. “Where are you from” “How old are you.” She’s funny. Not the sort of funny I can share with her.
She is young. Living at a hostel. So she says. She is engaged, or was, and her ring was a Harley. But she is giving it back. Her boots are burgundy and pointed.
I hate pointed toes.
She, at lunch break, said to me.. I’ll meet you there, look, up there at the tables.
Eventually I made my way there, to eat my lunch.
Hid in the back.. “oh,. There you are… I didn’t think you would come up here. Why are you hiding?”
“I don’t actually like most people. I like to sit back and observe. “
She replies with
“yeah people are fuc*ed.”
“Yeah.”
“So why did you bring your lunch.”….
Eating in peace was not an option.
Here in the eating area at the Yankee corral, I learn that H.R is everywhere, and again the department you fear.
What is with that?


I miss my love. I miss my love.

Here at the Office I have access to the Internet. I could write to anyone I wanted with risk of prompt dismissal. I gauge the risk..
Not yet I settle on. Not quite yet.

I notice people. I stare. I’ve noticed I do this. I am searching, for what I don’t know. But I constantly justify it with - I am an artist.
And I find myself looking at people, of all nationalities, a novelty I’ve yet to become bored with. People are fascinating- when distant. When silent.

There is a woman at work, that when in the company of any single person she will become them. A Jamaican woman walks in, and she is thick with accent. A French one, the same so on and so forth.. Quite well I must admit.
I wonder if I do this. I know I have southern intonation. But I am not from the South.

Sometimes I don’t even know where I am from. It’s been so long since I’ve been back.
I’m craving home. Barbie/mom..
I want so badly to just pack up, love cat dog, belongings and go.
Go
Go.
The comforts of being in a space where you can be.
Here I am a little lost, new city- new schedule, new people.. new.. new new..
My love unable to just be.
Becoming distant with self in fear of possibilities.

I am biting my tongue/ holding my breath. It’s just PMS. It has to be.
I’m begging it to be.
I should sleep.
I should also note.. I have not really slept in a while. I am exhausted. Terribly.
Until~