Right now I have to play the waiting game. I’m desperate to use the bathroom, but I’m the only one here. Being the only one here, I have to wait for someone to show up before I can use the bathroom. It’s a terrible spot to be in.

I’m waiting. I’m listening to the rain and I’m waiting. Yes, it’s raining again. I find this annoying as I need the grass around my place to dry so I can mow it and keep it short so it doesn’t overgrow and all that stuff. What a life. What a tough life for me.

I’m waiting and I need to use the bathroom, and part of my thoughts are going “Hey, you should try and come up with something that says something interesting. something that says something about the condition of society as it currently stands”. Part of my thoughts are going “Why are you writing when you need to use the bathroom? Isn’t it interesting that you need to use the bathroom? Have you considered that, as you need to use the bathroom, you need to use the bathroom?”, and other continuing forms of importance through in forms of nonsense.

At least I have some quiet, but I’m itching and scratching and I need to get moving. Oh please, won’t someone appear? Won’t someone show up and allow me to get moving, with the potential of grooving thrown in for good measure? How do I deal with this? How do I get through these horrible minutes if I am forced to tolerate a state of discomfort, and it is taking away everything from me? I cannot think, I cannot walk, I cannot move away, and I have obligations to attend to.

This is where my life has led. This is where I now sit and this is the torment that I must now endure. That I must now suffer. I go through it all and I hope for the best, but hoping won’t resolve anything. I cannot take action. I must become as though I am stone. I must become hardened and one with the earth. With nature. I must watch time and shadow draw long, and I must remain in one position, and I must do my best to overcome this grave transgression placed upon my being. Etched upon my soul. How do I? How can I? Is there any point in hoping, or is everything a lost cause held upon silence as it screams, screams loudly, erasing all other things and scraping the space clean?

Eventually someone will arrive. I know that much. I will be able to leave this chair. I will be able to leave this desk. I must hold out until then. I must not lose myself to discomfort. I need to keep on going and I will become some sort of enlightened being, or something. It takes time, but the path to understanding is never an easy one, and I am one to walk it.

The time it took to write five-hundred words: 07:00:33

A fun bit of writing that came from discomfort. Stretching a bit in it, but I like how it turned out.

Written at work.