Such is the Life

Yesterday at 2pm I was on the floor crawling around in my boxers looking for my brain. I'd lost it the day before after my fourth consecutive seven-day work week trying to make this January 15th deadline. My only fear, besides not makeing the deadline, was that another cockroach the size of the one I killed last week – which was no smaller than my thumb – had made off with my cerebellum (cerebellum). Now I'm sitting here in the same pair of boxers sweating profusely from this intense heat and relentless humidity, stopping every few minutes to wipe the sweat from my forearms and the mouse and keyboard with a sticky towel, just like towels the bus drivers carry with them to wipe the sweat off their steering wheels. Aimee came home a few days ago to find me in my boxers and wearing only one shoe. This heat is like being stuck in a dream where all your movements are slowed and everything takes on a foggy, heavy feeling – it's not the state of mind I need as I near this fucking deadline. But I can make it. And there's no need for me to change out of these boxers or put anything new on. It's only a week away.