#40- 4:29 pm

It was a strange time to think of it. A moment I always think at (and I don‘t think any other time?). Just a minute (sixty seconds of eternal doubting).

Sitting at my desk doodling upon my(his) notes (wich I stole.) Wich he gave me to read. My binder, red and all knowing, eyecatching was drooping over the sides of my desk.

Maybe the kids next to me wont realise it, some thoughts aren’t meant to be (and some just seem like the greatest Idea since sliced toast?) . I hide them all in my pocket (Next to my medication and insecent need to know).

Sometimes they are so strange and queer (Yes, you lazy heads I mean faggoty( I’m an idiot). Like “what if it were meant to...” and some are more pugnacious.

More angry and viscous (Yes I meant that word, they clog my everything). I have thought of more than once of smashing their heads in with my tea mug

(Is it so terrible that I fantasize about their blood shivering through the air and smattering against the wall with little chunks of brain matter and skull sliding down the stucko walls). The mug is quite sturdy; it could sustain the force.

I startle myself more often and worry over it (I‘m losing sleep and forgetting to eat, but slowling depriving myself into oblivion would be a change for once).

Maybe attempting to become a psychiatrist was NOT the best idea? (you think? psycho-analizing yourself at every word. I am no freudian.)

And my minute is up (the lights dim and all understanding of my own thought flees oppression).

4:29 pm has passed and I’m allowed to walk away more zombied than yesteryear. The last thing I’ll remember thinking inside that sixty seconds was:

“My god, he has wide hips...” (they are wider than many girls and more curvacious, he is FAR more attractive than masculine men. I wonder if he would be opposed of cross-dressing...)

My productivity is amazing me.