Words

I sit back in my desk chair, and let the whole thing go blurry: Two computer screens, countless printed Powerpoints, two notebooks with my cursive-print blend feverishly scrawled every which way, a vibrating cell phone with four new messages of varying significance. My Outlook and Gmail inboxes are pulled up like twin secretary soldiers: At my service, filing away messages for instant recall, business to the left, party to the right.

In my earbuds, more words:

Your smile is a drug / that I can't afford / mmmm, anymore

You're a tongue-tied talker with sleepy eyes / That always gets the last word

You're not broken / You're just tired / and it shows

I focus in on a lengthy email from a colleague--a term I'm still getting used to. She's providing information that I requested, but I have no idea what her answer means. I open up a reply window and think about how to ask for clarification in the most succinct way. I save it as a draft. I don't want to create more confusion.

I check the text messages--a request from a tenant, a two-word reply to my multiple sentence inquiry, a code from Macy's for a sale on a made-up holiday, and a vague "let's get together soon" from someone with whom I will not be getting together--soon or otherwise. "Sure thing." Hesitation. Delete. Delete.

To say I'll be alright would be a risky bet

'Cause I'm about as good as I'm gonna get, uh huh

These chains are tight / and that courage that I showed 

Left a long time ago / Just so you know

I take a deep breath, try to exhale as much as I inhaled. I let the screens go blurry again and rub my temples.

Sometimes it feels like my entire world is built on words.