The neuroses of a young journalist leave him struggling to get by when a big story is due.

Typing dumb upon the keyboard, sitting pretty in a chair so well worn that when you get up the shape of your ass keeps writing. You wonder what you're even saying now. The sun set hours ago. It's probably going to rise soon. What time is it? You got rid of the clocks a month ago. Gosh, that was a stupid idea, wasn't it? You wonder why you did that. It had something to do with that girlfriend at the time. Emily? Erica? Jessica? Ashley? Fuck, you can't remember. She hated clocks though. How fucking pretentious.
This article was probably already due to your editor. Have you missed your deadline? If you had a clock, you would have known by now, but you don't. Oh wait, isn't there a clock on your computer? Look around, look around. Fuck! No, you have to get this article done. It has to be turned in to the editor, it possibly already had to be. You might be fired. In which case, finishing it doesn't particularly matter. Isn't there a clock here? Oh damnit, stop wasting time. Finish the article.
Do you need coffee? Yes, you need more coffee, that'll solve the issue. You can't write right now. You don't have your coffee. Caffeine is like a brown sludge of blood, life flowing through the mug and into something like your heart. Empty at the moment. No passion here. You need some coffee.
You think you just got coffee. Did you actually get up? Did you? Look down. Is there coffee? Yes. Yes, there's coffee. Okay, crisis averted. You got coffee. You can get to work now. Get to work finishing that article. What is the article on again? It was something you had talked with your editor about. He really wanted this article. It mattered. But of course you didn't do the research on this one. Your editor told you something, and like an idiot without his coffee you forgot to research. That's why you're in this pickle. That's why you might get fired. You're up at 12:1:2:3:00 (?) O'clock, and writing an article for something you know nothing about. Something your editor cares about, and you're maybe probably late. Yup, you're going to get fired.
But anyway, who cares? It's just a job man! You can get another job. You're a marketable (semi-marketable) 20-something with a beard that says "life-experience" and a t-shirt that says "I have this beard ironically". Nicely done. You can do this. You think the article is supposed to be on tax reform. Jesus, that's boring. Probably why you didn't actually research. Damnit, where's the coffee?
The words are flying now, you've got this. Your words flying out the beard-enclosed mouth-hand connection (your beard is THAT long?) and onto the screen. Two pages, damnit, done. You're done, right? Proofreading time? No, no time for that. You're editor is probably already mad. Because you're maybe probably late. Yup, probably. Maybe. Possibly. Fuck. Hit the send button already! No time for fancy spellcheck! Send that thing. The coffee's gone, the sun is creeping somewhere around the hemisphere waiting to tell you that it's time to wake up, and it better not catch you still awake. Last time that happened, the hangover day-after, beer-breath, so-suave-with-the-ladies-not-so-much you had a hard time. So hit that send button. Get it done. You can do this! The coffee's out, but man you have this, conquering the words, tamed them into paragraphs, you did. Yup. Because that's how you roll. At who knows what time in the morning/night.
So there you go, you hit send, and damnit that shit was golden. Your editor would be proud. He WILL be proud. And you're probably not fired. Probably for sure. I mean, man, you're a journalist! So good you don't even research. That's for the old-world. You just write, about tax reform, about amazing beards, about ironic t-shirts. After all, isn't that pretty much all of life. Some giant joke just waiting to be understood? Some giant game just waiting to get played? And you played it. Showed it how you didn't need research, didn't need sleep, or anything. Just needed coffee. The coffee's gone. You're done. You can go to sleep now. You're probably not fired. Good job.

The End

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