Saturday, September 11, 2010

Time Well Killed

‘Darn, I still have thirty minutes until my appointment. Waiting sucks. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting? What does that even mean? Who decided to make those two syllables, those two guttural utterances, mean such a thing? Utterances, now that is a crazy word. No matter how many times I say utter, it always sounds like udder. I wonder if people think I’m weird. Am I weird? Then what is normal? Is that generic painting normal? Jesus, lady, nobody wants to hear your sob stories. Wait. Normal. Normal. Tangent? Circle? Sir? Sir?’

“Sir? Are you all right? We’re ready to see you now.”

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