the thirty minutes before work

I could run another bath, i could smoke a few more cigarettes. I could listen to more sad music, I could find myself in an emily haines ballad. I could call you, and wait for you to answer, knowing you probably wont. I could do another load of laundry, I could start writing you another letter; only to throw it in the pile of the others left unsent. I could call my mother, but I don't want to hear about another failed relationship. I could finally start to cry, but my eyes would be red and puffy on the bus. I could do some banking, but I know there is nowhere I want to put my money right now. I could look for a new place to live, but I don't know who I am anymore, or where I'd want to be. I could pretend that I am doing 'fine'... and trick everyone else into believing it too. I can distract and dismay with my humour, interject with some witty quip about something. I can make sure my hair looks presentable, I could try to figure out why I am in need of so much caffiene just to get through the day, why I am a zombie stummbling to the coffee pot..... back and forth, back and forth... waiting for the telephone to ring... it won't.