the platitudes of willful resemblance

morning when the slow malaise creeps in. morning when the pain rings true. morning when the noise turns on. morning when the bitter pill is swallowed. morning when the alarms sound that it is the first Tuesday. morning when air brakes are checked and wind is blown. morning when garbage men/women make their rounds collecting our debris and the cast-offs of a rich life. morning when I pretend to understand you. morning when I don’t understand anything. morning when bombs are dropped, lives are lost and America’s most wanted are captured. The warrant always arrives in the morning. morning when the phone rings and I have to take action. morning when the birds get their breakfast and I eat cheerios with blueberries. stab it in the arm with a number two pencil.

the expression changes.

I’m acclimating to this change of lifestyle rather well and have not gone out to brazenly alter my blood sugars/insulin balance/imbalance.

the interviewer brings up black socks and polish-able shoes twice and I tell him that my socks don’t match. I’ve also already told him that I want his job and that I didn’t think it would be that difficult to obtain. but still the interview goes well and I plan on turning down the position if and when it is offered.

I drink coffee with abandon and no care for the lining of my stomach. the phone rings twice in the morning and I wonder where I’ve gone wrong.