/ If You Think I Don't Have More Bird Photos You Are Wrong

There was another car flipped over on the road to work and I bit my lip but couldn't suppress my anger at being forced to think about my own mortality before opening my email. Now I will spend the rest of the day committed to a fantasy of crawling amnestically through the frost-bit woods and nursed to health by a coven of revelationistas. They will convince me to repent before it is too late and I will persuade them to vote for my candidate before the polls close on Saturday. It will be an epic conflict of will versus memory. The upturned vehicle symbolizes man's impatience. And woman's. Women can be impatient, too.

Sadly, opening my email only further convinces me to ponder my own mortality, as every other subject line asks me DO YOU WANT TO BE A SUPERHERO IN BED?!? I think of how I might do this, what separates the superheroes from the normal heroes. Is it x-ray vision? Donning your underwear over your pants? Mask and cape combo? Super speed? I bet I could attain three of the four without even reading the contents, so I see no reason not to recycle these messages. I will save them for leaner times, when my powers show signs of diminishing.

My co-workers who were having an affair have both moved back to their respective corners, and still continue to talk to me, though no longer as a unified front. They seem neither happier nor not-happier, and their conversation starters offer few clues as to their place, as in I AM IN A GOOD PLACE, or I AM IN A NOT GOOD PLACE. She recently asked me WILL IT EVER FUCKING STOP RAINING BEFORE I DIE HERE IN MISERY? And he asked, 'WHAT ARE YOUR VIEWS ON SUSHI?' Well, he mostly just sat there and stared at me. But I know it was what he was thinking. Because it was what I was thinking, and god bless us, we are all human beings after all. I faked a phone call and bathroom urge at the same time and got the hell out of there, even though it was my own office. Looking at crazy for brief periods is fine, but you don't want to linger.

When I returned, all the Jolly Ranchers were gone from my candy dish. I did one of those wink and six-shooter gestures to the wall that separates our offices.