Hello, Loved Ones

"Well, it's finally the afternoon. This morning went by so slow, right?" I said to D'Angelo.

It's  12:31. D'Angelo just sat there, unresponsive. D'Angelo is a blue, plastic back massager I purchased at Beth Bath & Beyond.  D'Angelo  just likes to do his work and not talk. I've found most inanimate objects are all like that. That's fine with me. Who am I to judge, right? I've got my own issues, so I don't let this get in the way of our friendship.

I'm hungry.

No, I'm not. I only said that because it's 12:36 and most people are at lunch. Sometimes I say things because it's time to say them. I actually don't have an appetite today. I let a co-worker in my car pool use my car to go to the gym. If he wasn't at the gym with my car I'd be somewhere else in my car instead of writing to you, Malachai. That's what I've named all of you reading this. I've lumped you all together into a big blob in my head and named you Malachai.  I actually hate that name because it reminds me of that creep in Children of the Corn. I don't hate you guys at all. If you're still reading this bullshit after that first paragraph up there, then you're good in my book, Malachai.

I'm practicing the art of throwing my brain out into the nothing with a loose grip on the line. I do that when I've hit  a creative slump. I recommend it to everyone. Helps me unclench all my stress-induced compressed body parts. Some people go to the restroom. That's gross. I write instead.

It's 12:53. Yes, I took some long, introspective breaks while writing this. I hope you didn't notice. My co-worker just brought back my keys. I'm going to leave now.  

Hold down the fort, D'Angelo. He's on it.