Thoughts

I know, I know, so don't say it. I should be working. But briefly.

I read epics about the world going to hell in a handbasket, about the impending apocalypse, about doom and gloom. About people who have no way out.

I talk to myself when writing, when trying to organize thoughts in my own head. A recent gem: "Damn you Myers, I'm sure this is all repeated verbatim in the other two, so I can just split them up, waste of time, damn repetitive bastard."

I went upstairs to put my laundry in the drier. Checked the label to see if it should be dried. Made in Bangladesh.

I came back down and stared at the photocopied pages, the words on my screen. Fifteen million people? Its just a number. They are real people, maybe one of them made the shirt that I've just hung on my windowsill to dry in the sunshine half a world away.