Poetry

114.

Maybe it’s all the coffee I drink
out of boredom,
maybe it’s all the websites I check
out of boredom,
maybe it’s all the thoughts I think
out of boredom,
but I
am damn tired of work.

I dreaded getting out of bed today
’cause I couldn’t stand the thought of
logging into my work computer
remotely,
I couldn’t even remotely stand that thought.

I felt much better when I
decided to sleep in instead
and push work off until the weekend.

I know that I’m only delaying my discomfort.

It is truly a bummer that I
need to amass reams of green paper to shore up my
shoddy cardboard walls,
but the box I rent keeps me relatively comfortable.
The walls are better than cardboard, of course, but
these days privacy is paper thin.

Can I push myself to do it?
Will I log in tonight?
Even an hour, just one hour of work
logged for today,
will keep me on my rough track.

I want to take capitalism back.
But buying, not making, is my sad normal state
for now.

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