and the tv tells me that it's my age...that brings the blues. that it should pass by 50. that i'll be smiling that fixodent smile and ignoring that slightly unruly bladder. the news tells me that by spring break time, i could lose 30 pounds if i follow a diet of shakes and sensible meals. i'll be hitting the beach in that bikini surrounded by browned hardened bodies minus millions of brain cells. they keep telling me that i need a few days off. that i should have a beer. that i could use a good fuck. that i need to eat more greens and take my multi-vitamins. that i need shot of botox. and an extra double large pizza pie...
pieces. little pieces all over. lost. tired. fed-up with the morning commute. i slowly unravel. let them fall where ever they want. the city seems to be winning this month. the stress of the job seems to be winning this month. everything is armed with sarcasm, self-centeredness, and loss. i'm armed with a bottle of rubber cement with a cap that's stuck on good.