Three Thousand Six Hundred Seconds

You try to hit me just to hurt me

So you leave me feeling dirty

Because you can't understand

- Mayer

***

I spend 9 hours a day

five days out of seven

hating, hating myself

being constantly reminded of the disgusting choices that lead me to the draining, mind-maiming grind that is my everyday

of the incessant, "Shit, shit, shit, I'm am so fucking better than this."

The pretending to care.

The knowing that we're good, but plain sucking at what we do.

And there's that one hour

that one hour out of the nine...

an hour of sanity

of unpretentiousness

of knowing that we can curse in rage (and knowing that the other understands, really understands)

an hour of saying things without regard for propriety or manners (or eavesdroppers)

of saying things without regard for pertinence.

The bad food.

The people who have less IQ points than we have (but whose paychecks are less malnourished than ours).

The stunningly beautiful women. The stunningly ugly women.

The science of orgasm races.

The sorry state of this republic (and me choosing not to complain as I haven't casted a single electoral ballot in my life).

Intellectual masturbation over lunch (and wiping our messes, knowing that the hour, the 3600 sweet seconds, will be over).

The lunch hour is over.

The day is halved.

The day was made bearable.

(Here's to more Frosties and laughter and the things they'll never figure out)

***

Oh, no, don't get me wrong... I still won't sleep with you. :)