Something

It's going to rain. I think it sort of rained last night, but not very much. Sometimes, a person's sleep schedule gets interrupted or changed and while she is adjusting, she spends her days in a sort of a haze. Memories take on the elusive qualities of dreams; so she wonders if things really happened or perhaps getting all that junk mail was a symbol of the ultimate emptiness of human endeavor. What a stupid dream that would be; she hopes to find a stack of catalogs and credit card offers on the ottoman when she returns home. While she is working she is saying things she has said thousands of times before so it seems only natural to close her eyes.