The slow, droning hum of people talking. Sudden bouts of laughter and giggles. The click-clacking of someone typing on their board. The sounds I make as I shuffle through papers and type a paper that, in the long run, will mean nothing to me.
This persistent knot in my stomach that makes me feel as if I am on the brink of throwing up. My body wants to rid itself of everything: that whole wheat bagel with veggie cream cheese, the over-priced hot chocolate, the two or three oreos I had this morning. Maybe what it really wants to do is purge itself of thoughts of you, of what has been said and done these past few days. I find myself making absurd connections in daily conversation, all to just bring you up somehow.
"I just bought an awesome gray sweater yesterday"
"oh, you just bought a gray sweater? you know, my ex used to like gray…a lot"
anything to make a connection to you. My brain is clever. They could talk of elephants and wrestling and ikea furniture, the most random of things and I’d somehow find my way back to you. People must hate me. I’m starting to hate myself, honestly. And I can still taste the leftover Riesling in my mouth. It’s still there. The memory of that stupid night, that night filled with an inordinate amount of emotions that one should not experience in such close proximity.