by Hugo de Mare

It’s 7am.

I’ve already been at work for an hour, gotten a parking ticket, re-injured my broken hand, lost my temper, questioned my ability to be strong in my relationship, doubted my chances in my chosen field, recognized that I haven’t earned a better life and that’s why I’m not living a better life, panicked about money and how I don’t have any, run down my list of skills and found myself wanting, re-evaluated my relationship to alcohol, shed a tear for Cleveland sports teams, become swollen with disappointment after seeing my reflection in the mirror, doubted  my aptitude for love making, picked my nose in public, bad-mouthed good people, contributed to the erosion of my work ethic, imagined myself as being far more clever and witty than I am in real life, thrown recyclable materials into the trash thereby contributing to the destruction of our natural world, betrayed my talents, failed to live up to my potential, turned my back on my intellect, ignored my instincts, cursed my past, re-examined every wrong decision I’ve made that’s lead me to this awful place, been crippled by loneliness, disappointed by real life, aged too quickly, lost some hair while gaining some weight, cursed the man, poisoned my digestive system, stifled my ambition, failed to live up to expectations, dragged my co-workers down, burdened friends emotionally, accepted my creative impotence, given away prime opportunities, read about all the things I’m not, behaved in a self-destructive manner, abused my position within the company, lost the respect of both peers and superiors, hurt my chances for survival in this industry, regretted my failure to reach out to my father in his dying days, dropped the ball, lost the narrative thread, been intimidated by people who are beneath me, doubted my ability to make a good father to the children I’m even less likely to have now than I was when I got up this morning, checked my email three times, and stolen stuff from work.

It’s now 7.17.

Perhaps I shall use the copier in an amusing and playful manner. I’ll keep you posted.

Past Columns By Hugo
Could I Ever Love a Hooker
What Happens...
Big Bubblin' Fun
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