What Color is Moss?

When I come home at the end of the day I collapse.

Exhaustion overcomes me and I wonder how it can possibly be only 4:30. Only two weeks ago I worked until 6:30 with no complaints but things have changed.

I feel tired. The tired that comes when you only sleep 6 hours. The tiredness that comes when you didn't drink coffee and didn't have a Giant Soda with lunch.

But I do all the right things. I sleep for 9 hours every night. I get coffee when I'm tired. I get soda. And yet, I feel it, behind my eyes.

I wake up in the morning, knowing that sleep is no longer needed and I look out my window and the sun is not even visible above the brick wall. The dazy fog hovers around the lemon tree and I can't imagine what the sun will even look light when it awakens.

"You can return these calls," they tell me at work and talking to strangers is so much easier than anything else.

"Please download the transcript request form from our Web site." I can rattle off a hundred facts about transcripts and what the costs are and how soon they will be sent and exactly what "official" means.

But the meaning of official is as concrete as my to do list and I hate both.

I wait for moss-colored pants to come in the mail. They looked khaki in the picture and I won't mind either way because they'll fit and I won't have to wear the same outfit every day.

I smile because old men are common during lunch time at Taco Bell and because I got paid $20 for company.

Life is funny like this. And I love Starbucks' caramel sauce.