I'm not happy at all

I'm not happy at all about having to work tonight. Things were left unfinished on Tuesday and Wednesday, and now I have to catch up to a schedule that was already moving far too fast. What in a marketing email can't wait until Monday? What could we possibly say to even make that email appropriate? After the loss of at least 5,000 people in one of the world's most loved cities, only the promise of eternal salvation would be appropriate sitting in an Inbox. Not my foot, not my bullets.

After everyone had left the office tonight, the whole place began to glow amber. In the cubicle space, there were particles of dust and fiber swirling around the room. Nobody was there to stir them; they apparently just moved. Out of the window, the sun was bright red-orange, like a crayola color; maybe even scribbled slightly out of the lines. I still remember the day that I discovered that pollutants were to thank for those magnificent red sunsets. It was prettier when it was magic; it's still pretty today. When I went outside, the air was cool. I think fall is coming and I think the rain has stopped.

This is absurd; I'm going to bed. People will be heartbroken, their lives changed forever, when that email fails to arrive tomorrow. Can I bear that burden?

"This is not a life; this is just stuff!" — Oh, American Beauty is on HBO.