February 27th, 2004
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I had a sweater…
but I’m not wearing it now. My clothes are a worn paper wrapper, from a small family supermarket, worn and thinning at the seams. I was so exhausted last night that I fell asleep in my clothes either during next gen, or immediately after, lights on and windows open. I removed this week’s pants only to place myself in front of water briefly. It is a mad, mobius strip of a dream that it has been two months without holiday and I am on the train to work.
People’s sneezes and coughings are starting to annoy me, not random ones, but the token old man who is unable to suppressing a frequent bellowing that rattles the finger-smudged windows. It’s kind of like being drunk. Yesterday, at the tail end of a seventeen hour stint, I was punchy and laughing easily, talking to myself. Now I’m irritable and foggy-minded. Soon I will just be incapable of hardly anything due to fatigue. People cope to varying degrees. One of the girls at work stares at her timesheet, smeared with streaks of yellow indicating holidays and weekends at the office.
Another coughing old man has sat down next to me. I change trains. An Indian woman talks on the phone, complaining how the local train stops at every station, her husband just stares, either at me or one of the ads above my head. It’s going to be a new day, but it seems like every one before it.
