Thursday, July 22, 2010
sketchbook: out of order
I am waiting for last shift’s coworker to finish typing up the day, so mine can begin. Its already an hour and half into my time and I pick at my anxiety, this peeled edge of sticky thought, that doesn’t like it when my routine is disturbed. Work first, write next. I am sifting through pages and pages of poety searching for inspiration while I wait and come no closer to finding it amongst a sea of poems then I do getting my time on the other computer. The other computer, where my tardy coworker sits is where I process the paperwork for the next day. It could be done on this computer, but then I can only do half of the shift notes since said coworker isn’t done with his half. I send out a gusty wind of frustration at my bangs that have grown over my eyes, sigh outloud, while my coworker goes “I know, I know. I’m running behind.” Its kind of funny haha, or maybe its just not, here I am so thrown off by the simpliest change in my routine. I am rainman eager to count the box of toothpicks if it will give my brain some reprieve from this rediculous anxiety. Work first, write next. I thought I could waste my time wisely searching for well written prose on road trips, sea voyages, or some kind of journey of the soul traveling alone between horizons. Still my Asperger's flares and I cannot get past the fact that I have done no real work on the overnight. Work first, write next. Should I just do half the paperwork to relieve this itchy goody twoshoes stepping all over my mood? Or perhaps I will simply read more prose while my scurrying thoughts finally seccumb to the idea that tonight I write first, work next.