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I feel as if I've written this one hundred times. I am at unease. I haven't laughed in weeks. I check my email; the universe gives me nothing new. Distract me, I say; keep me from answering these questions. There is silence, and there is no answer, that is what we know. This is revolting, and yet we are all here, alive. Show me inspiration, show me honesty, show me progress. Where is it? What do you see? Give me the answer, I'm done trying to figure it out. There is no answer, we say.

I can't think on Wednesdays. It's my favorite day; on the floor, there's only room for smiling, for small bouts of courage, and for saying yes, at least we're still here, tonight. I always come home. No messages. No answer.

I write by incandescent light. I wait. Challenge me. No, not that much. Entice me. Oh. Fine. Let's talk about the game again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again.

Again, I wait. Where do we want to go? We're on the sea; at least the sun is out. You don't need your book, you know how it goes, you've read it before.

No messages. Tell me a joke that involves the president, our leader, our beacon, our representative, our selves. At what point do we give up. This isn't our country. These aren't our lives. Some day we'll learn. Some day I'll learn. Some day I'll be honest. I'll write. I'll share. Some day. Eight hours at work. Eight hours of a life. Not my life, I say. What a lie, what an easy path. Yet, I wait.