Fictitious viewings through red mist

You wake up and realize it hasn’t been more than even 4 hours since you plonked on something you thought was your bed in pitch darkness. You feel around and realize with a reluctant gratitude that it was your bed after all and surprisingly clean. You see the mound of clothes on your chair and you know why your bed is so clean.
Your neck pains if you try and move it to see who is howling away at the top of his voice. Turns out its Sonu Nigam trying to be mel-odious and bloody way too early in the morning. You shrug and go back to sleep. There is a buzz in your head accompanied by a relentless confusion about whether you are feeling fresh enough to rest more or distressed enough to wake up and shake off the feeling.

You have to rush to work in another couple of hours. You feel the pain in your right elbow every time you bend it. You realized it last night/this morning when you finished keyboarding. In a moment you realize you were wrong. It is not your right hand. Your left hand pains too. It is just that the pain was too meek to register itself and had to wait till you got used to the pain in your right hand just as you had gotten used to the pain in all the joints you never knew existed.

You rush to work in some time. Your eyes are blood-shot but no-one notices, not that you care anyways. You settle down to work immediately. You open up 15 windows, many consoles among them. Lot of work has made you stinking smart. You open them up in a particular sequence everyday so that lying down on the bottom of your screen they represent the debris that your life lately has become. You know exactly how many alt-tabs would reach you to which window and what exactly you have to type there. It works. You realized it last night when after 7 hours of such expert window switching you actually saved 15 minutes which you promptly lost waiting for the cab. You had let out an ironical laugh then. You have in fact started laughing in various modes lately. It has started coming naturally to you.

You are too immersed in your work to notice the hoopla around you because people are going early to augment their already long vacation. You don’t notice or you would rather not because it reminds you of your cancelled vacation. You just slug it out. The pain in your elbows disappears as your fingers type away sometimes injuring the keyboard probably; if only it could hit you back. Your neck anyways is incapable of turning around on its own without you swiveling on your chair. You crane it anyways as you calculate the double digit times you have spent in the office for the past double digit number of days. You shrug and wince at the same time and decide not to shrug again for sometime with a shrug. You get stares from others around you for the way you have looked and acted for the past so many days. You are perplexed. You have been much the same as before with just a scowl being an addition to what you bring to office besides sleepy eyes and a distorted metabolism that is perfectly out of sync and has no clue what is going on. You get strange delusions. You leave the office on Thursday morning and come back to office the same day thinking it is a Friday before the terrible realization hits you that it is still a Thursday.

Your to-do list increases beyond control and you know it has reached a staccato crescendo when one of the tasks in your to-do lists is to “clear up the to-do list”.
You mop up the work, postpone the dinner because of alt-tab reasons, and have it late at night when they are doling out midnight snacks. It actually becomes the best part of the day because you see a lot of interesting faces lining up for the midnight snack. They are less haggard than you and give you the who-left –you-behind? stares.
You finally make your way back home and again stumble your way to your bed leaving the clothes on top of an existing heap; reminds you of another to-do at hand.
You brush you teeth and see blood oozing out through the white foam. You spit it out in disgust. You don’t care to see what could be the problem.

You sag on your bed once again and think about good things that you have always thought about for yourself. You try and go to sleep. Even as you do that you just hope things will look up and the Mr. Tyler Durden would sleep on for a bit longer.

You don’t hope he would invite you rest in his palm of perfection. Not just yet.

Disclaimer: Everything fictitious...well almost.