Five Minute Break

What is this, my tenth cup of coffee tonight? It’s only 9:30; feels like I’ve been here for hours already. My eyes feel like they’re about to drop out. Hmm, how would I find them if they fell out and rolled under my desk? That would be a sight, my eyes drop out and I have to crawl around looking for them. I guess I wouldn’t really be looking for them, so to speak anyway. Maybe I could just sit here in front of the computer and no one would notice. Of course, someone would have to tell me when its time to go home. I wish someone would tell me to go home now. I’d grab my eyes and be out the door.

Ugh, it’s 9:32. It’s going to be a long night. What is he doing? Oh, he’s on the internet looking for Big-foot again. I swear all that guy does at work is surf the net looking for evidence of Big-foot. He looks like he’s in some drug induced trance; slouched back in his chair, glasses slid down on his nose, staring straight ahead with that blank look on his face again. In fact, I don’t think he’s moved in an hour. I wonder if he’s breathing. Yeah, there, he just blinked. He must have just come across some thing interesting like sasquatch mating calls, or their dietary habits. Damn, some really interesting stuff there. At least he isn’t talking to me; I’m getting tired of hearing about his Viagra addiction.

Alright, 9:34; another coffee? No, I better not. Any more coffee and I’ll probably overdose. I wonder if someone could overdose on coffee. What would happen if you did? Would it be like you were stuck in fast forward; maybe run around at warp factor three until the caffeine wore off? Maybe you would talk like those people on the cell phone commercials that don’t want to use up all their minutes, so they blurt everything out like an auctioneer at an estate sale. That could be fun. Hey, did I ever tell you about my Viagra addiction? Did I hear nine? I have nine, how about ten, can I get ten…no, that would be bad. Maybe I’ll cutback on the coffee.

Hmm, 9:35; lets see, no nothing new on Hungry Writers tonight. That’s too bad. I could have used something new to read from Tiger, Sam or PB. Then I wouldn’t be sitting here with my eyes falling out and rolling under my desk, listening to the sasquatch hugger in the next cube tell me about his love affair with wood, while I get ready to set a new overland speed record because I drank too much coffee.

“Huh?”

“What’s that captain?”

“No, you don’t depart for another hour.”

“Oh yeah, I was just getting ready to release the aircraft.”

“No, the problem with the garbled HF transmissions was a high resistance in the ground from the para-amplifier and…”