sitting in the waiting room I hear an argument escalate from the reception desk. one of the doctors growls at the admin staff for not keeping them in the loop. a member of the team notes that the message in question had been communicated through email and letters in the pigeon hole. the doctor shakes her head and sharpens her tone and though I appreciate the brief distraction this affords from me and the state of who and how I am, I feel angry. after my appointment I make a point of apologising to the staff at reception for having to deal with such unpleasant displays of insecurity. they are taken aback and claim to not know what I mean, but thank me for my feedback.
the doctor writes too quickly and squints at words on the screen. I leave her office with papers that make me someone else’s problem. when I read through I laugh at the mistakes and glaring gaps and wonder if I’ll ever be free to enjoy the same carelessness for my own duties under the rule of this mind of mine.
after work I lose the blissful freedom from thought that keeps me efficient and so very faithful. I escape the clouds in my room and the last of the sun is spoiled on me; reading the parables of another mind that thinks in ways it shouldn’t. I see myself in the absurdity and wish I could live in his words as one of the clowns that he fools. when the time comes I will try to write like him and for a moment entertain the thought that telling stories makes me special.
after the sun there are empty rooms and dishes to wash. I clean the floors of a home that isn’t mine.
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