[subject missing]

I usually spend Monday afternoons at a local cafe with coffee and notebook but not today.
(This is the part where the reader rolls his or her eyes, shakes head and wonders what mc will whine about this time.)
My stomach hurts. I'm tired. My eyes move like marbles through molasses. I'm a dying dog hobbling over familiar territory, searching for some place warm and new and I'm not finding anything promising. I want to disappear.
Outside, a breeze of ice blows and the wind chill factor is 15 degrees.
Inside, I'm watching I Am Trying to Break Your Heart: A Film About Wilco.
Tomorrow is the holiday for lovers and I wonder how many people will kill themselves out of spite for that bastard Saint Valentine (how apropos he was beheaded).

"The tragedy of it is that nobody sees the look of desperation on my face. Thousands and thousands of us and we're passing one another without a look of recognition,"
Henry Miller

"Maybe you can tell me something. Why does it always have to go in this direction, writer to reader? Maybe you have the one thought that'll change everything for me. The one thing I haven't considered in my relentless, obsessive, circular thought process. Is there that one thing? Is it possible for one person to impart any transformative notion to another person?"
Charlie Kaufman

I don't know what I want from you. I feel like the forgotten punchline from some mindless joke and no one is laughing. Everyone is averting their eyes from my sagging and pathetic presence. Ha Ha - the joke's on me.
I know what I want from you but, like everyone else, you can't provide those fragile pieces and now I've trapped you.
Go. Stay. The past, the present and the future - and I'm breaking things all the time.

And now I'm tired...

mc