Holy moly stick me in a tuxedo made of wood and bury me upside down full fathom five, I just went – no, was subjected to – the most agonizingly long and boring meeting I have ever had the displeasure to experience. Worse than waiting hours and hours in the waiting room of an embassy to get a passport stamped, or trying to last the final few hours before dawn so as to pull an all-nighter when your bed is calling you to come take a ten minute nap. It was awful, and it lasted a full hour, and I ended up having to write awful poetry to keep myself awake. At one point I actually began to claw at the side of my face, hoping that the pain would keep me alert. There were only ten people around the table, and though I didn’t speak for the full hour (THE MEETING IN NO WAY SHAPE OR FORM HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH ME) I still had to look alert, interested, and suspiciously important.
Here is the poem I wrote. Remember, gentle reader, that it was written while I was seeing double, my mind adrift on the oceans of boredom, and that I could barely remember to breath much less rhyme while writing it. Be not harsh, but rather chortle with me as I recall my near brush with death!
My brain is dulled, slowed like a carriage
ground down in the mud, lurching
with sullen jolts but going nowhere
despite the cajoling cries of the gulls
that circle endlessly like my thoughts.
A dull stasis expands in the front of my
mind, emitting a dull hum, the drone of
a bumblebee trapped in a Mason jar
and running out of air.
My body ennervates and floats away.
Is absorbed by soft goose down distances
that extend from here to nowhere.
The empty space above my head my head
presses down on shoulders and
makes my pen
as heavy as lead.
There is even no clock on the
wall to allow me the distraction
of watching the second hand
move slower and slower
Awful! Awful poetry to memorialize an awful hour. They were droning on and on about this newsletter they were setting up, and how to integrate it with their new webpage, and what functions should link to what, and how long the articles should be, and whether there should be four articles or five, or whether they should run around screaming screaming screaming–
Phew. Calm. The problem, see, is that I had another meeting immediately after, and so I dashed to the cafeteria and chugged five mugs of coffee, and then ran back, swinging my arms and making monkey faces. By the time I resumed my seating sit, I was wired, I was electric, I was shooting laser beams out of my eyes. The new people were having a casual conversation, and I interjected with complete and utter focus, asking pointed questions like a Commander about to send his troops into war and needing the Intel NOW NOW NOW. I was as poised and focused as a hunting dog, and the thirty minute meeting was viewed from the very depths of my new found and amazingly great tunnel vision, which I would swing like a cannon from person to person as I listened and questioned and made razor sharp jokes that raised eyebrows.
I’m waiting for the coffee to leave my system. I’m waiting for my hands to stop shaking. I’m waiting for the world to return to normal. Good lord, save me from meetings like these, or else I’m liable to explode.