I'm sitting here.
The clock turns slowly, grains of sand keeping me from freedom.
The phone rings and I answer. It rings again. I answer again. We are caught in this dance that only ends when I leave, run away, breathless in anticipation to get out.
There it goes again, ringing its brash little fist in my face. Awful dance partner, really, so evil and passive aggressive and demanding. It's always the same choreography: Good afternoon, just a moment, let me transfer you, may I put you on hold, I just need to look that information up for you.
Did the last woman to call really just identify herself as Rydolin? The irony is an overdose in itself. Then again, it may have been my brain knocking on the side of my skull, crashing into the walls of my head like that bird that just flew into the window a moment ago. Seriously. Oh how I empathize.
I just left a message for an agent and I actually said something about information and then I said reiteration a few words later. I inadvertently rhyme now? I need to be done with work for the summer...
Look at this, I can't even write prose. I can't string coherent thoughts together or formulate a style. I have approximately 49 hours and 57 minutes left of work here...not that I'm counting or anything.
What a summer. Fun? No. Long? Yes. Fast? Like light. Eventful? Sure. Is a repeat in order?