Ground State...
Friday.
It's finally over.
The pager handed off at Midnight.
Four O'clock has finally come 'round.
The illusion now begins.
For forty eight hours, I'll feel free.
Then it begins again.
The short sleep and heavy eyes.
It's not even the work that drags you.
It's the fight with your own body clock.
The mental fog.
The dull and flat state of emotionless grind.
Forty eight hours out of every one hundred and sixty eight.
The illusion of who I could be, if I'm lucky enough to live that long.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A .Stafford
© 09/25/2026
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