The bane of my existance.

As I begin my heart pounds in queer anticipation and fear; anticipating a loveless encounter and fearing the inevitable unknown. An anxious grasp on my heart has shattered my reflexes, causing each movement to be rushed and clumsy. One after the other, in quick succession, my defences fall. A spoken word is shocking and my breath catches in my throat. I force smiles and fake an openness that defies the logic of the situation. The repetitiousness of dutiful routine provides some comfort, but the imaginings of a scorned heart cannot be stilled. Images of unrelated purpose and instance swim tantalisingly by. The colours before me, though bright and diverse, hold no satisfaction. I find escape in each inkling of possibility, turning to run from responsibility and chore. Time begins to resemble thick honey, dripping slow, heavy minutes. Soon, I console myself, soon I will be done. I do dislike working in homewares.