another week

Another week has passed in seemingly slow motion. I fear I may be living in a school zone, in fact, there is one around the corner- James Whitcomb Riley Elementary, I think the name is a disservice to the namesake, almost like creating an Albert Einstein pre-school. My taskboard, created to own preformed ideas for writing, is doing nothing to encourage me to write. It sits idle above my desk nearly filled- Winter bloom; A steeple in the distance; Hold the line; Sickle and Wheat; Linear Causality and Spatial relationships; A weathered copper soul; and several other ideas. I have, on top of my file cabinet, a few unfinished poems; at night they cry for attention, but I am heartless towards them, and deride them under my breath as I try to go to sleep.
At work on Friday the tension of the workers was high. A rumour had been floated that it would be known as "black friday"- the day when the corporate structure would be lightened by 80 or so bodies- for the most part, I knew it to be untrue, having knowledge that this day won't come until the end of March, but I still waited to see if I would receive word of my departure. I almost hoped for it, and still do. It isn't that I dislike my job, in fact, of all the positions I've held, it is the most enjoyable, but still... it is something to consider.
My Sunday shows only disturbed me. I reached the point of trying to go back to bed, with hopes of starting my day all over at a later time, but I was already awake, and nothing can be done for the morning once it arrives; nothing can be done for the mourning once it dies. (?) I'm not sure what that's about, perhaps my own meaning can be revealed at a later time; a drawback to writing without concerted thought.