My head aches. I walk with my eyes closed.

Inside, I write this I look and see a tiny black whisp of a bug I have never seen before crawling along my left knuckle. I blow it away. It’s about twenty dregrees below zero inside this office, and the cooling system adjustment will make it even colder.

My mind is full of things I’d rather it weren’t:

“Studies show that childhood obesity and diabeties is due to overeating and inactivity. Reduce your child’s caloric intake and make sure they receive at least one hour of physical exercise each day.”

A long, tall, skinny guy from another office grills me relentlessly as we wait for the elevator, as we wait in the elevator, as we walk out of the elevator and do not say goodbye:
“Do you work in the office nextdoor?”
“What do you do?”
“You’re an assistant…for Souraya?”
“Are you in school? – College or highschool?”
“Where do you go?”
“We’re into exports – and we’re all pretty much the same age. We’ve seen you around around and wondered if you worked nextdoor – everyone there is old.”
I smile hesitantly, aware that there is something between my teeth, that my head aches, and that I am in no mood to do a song and dance routine before a judge with no reward in sight. I wonder what this guy wants – to be nice? Hmph. No such thing here in los angeles.
We exit the elevator and I wonder whether or not I should say goodbye, as people often do when they ride the elevator together – regardless of whether or not they speak. I don’t and he doesn’t either. He walks slightly behind me on the side walk and then disappears as I cross the street, his voice bouncing around in my head and me chasing after it while frantically shouting “goodbye!” Why couldn’t I have just said it?
The rest of my (brief) walk I fret about being stupid and hating myself and wanting his goddamned voice to cease vibrating within my head.

My head hurts too much to tolerate a full half-hour walk at my normal gait, so I decide to cut it short and buy some bottled caffine. I feel guilty.
At heart, I am obese. Morbidly.
I pass by people who look as if they’ve come from the gym. I feel guilty.
“Studies show that Americans are inactive and obese.” I feel guilty.
I think about all the lower sugar/sugar-free teddygrams, juicy-juice, and kudos and I feel guilty. I feel fat too, because I loved stuff like that before it came w/o sugar.
“Studies show that sleep deprivation leads to obesity…”
“Studies show that french fries lead to cancer…”
“5’3” 95lbs! Loose ten pounds in ten days!”
“Say goodbye! Say goodbye you dumb bitch! Act interested! Be nice! Be engaging!”

I want to bash my head against a wall to stop the incessant whirrling of unwanted noise.
I want to scream and yell and tell everyone to shut shut up and hump a fridge. Or fondle a sweater. Or smear mud on their ass.
I want to live in the wilderness and tape bears and then get eaten by one.
I want to run nextdoor and tell that guy I’m glad I didn’t say goodbye.