Meditation X

 Can't Joan just get a break? There she is, walking down the street to grab breakfast, because her house is a mess. She doesn't have the time to cook, and even if she did, all the dishes are piled up! Joan's got it hard, and it's no wonder people feel bad for her. Once she gets to her job, it's all she can do to get some work done. She has a picture of her dog, and brown coffee mug full of pens, and a computer screen thinner than a piece of paper, all at her desk. The light from the screen, oh! it's so distracting.

Nothing compared to what's on her screen, though. How can she work, when her colleagues are constantly sending her links to videos and sex tips? When she's thinking of sex with her dream guy, or playing some asinine crossword. Someone should really crack down on all this wasted company time. She's not the manager, the manager is the manager, with his comb over, fondness of silver jewelry, and hidden penchant for collecting old mason jars.

And when Joan takes transit everyone smells, the seats are dirty, and it costs too much. She only has so much money, and between supporting herself and her dog, she can't afford transit. So she drives her Hummer, but only because she's cursed to be short. She needs the added height to see over all the traffic. She doesn't want to have an accident. Do you want Joan to have an accident? If she was taller, she'd have a smaller car. But she's cursed. And how could she fit her golden retriever in a small car anyways? She much prefers him to have all the space he can get, with the seats down.

Her bike tires are flat and she can't find the pump! Her dinners burn cause her stove sucks, so she has to go out again! And because of how her parents raised her, she has no patience. How can she wait at a restaurant? She needs her food immediately, so it's fast food again. Poor Joan! Can anyone compare themselves to such desolate circumstances? She's a martyr for our time, someone who truly could lead a revolution! Flowers make her sneeze so she stays inside, doctors maker he uncomfortable so she has undiagnosed diabetes. She's too shy to talk to men, so she's sexually unfulfilled and masturbates twice a day, once at work, and before she goes to bed. Joan is a tragedy, and like all tragedy, it's gods fault. But it's not Joan's fault she can't make it to church. Sundays it's too busy to drive. Joan can't get anymore tickets, or so the cops told her, but that's just because people kept cutting her off. It's not her fault her blind spot is gigantic. It's the makers of the car! They shouldn't be allowed to drive.

But when someone new starts working at Joan's job, she discovers a new, tragic flaw. Her heart starts to beat faster, almost breaking out of the veins holding it in place to fall down through her chest cavity, resting in a pit of acid. And, oh! she can't move. And when her manager walks by, his mistake is mistaking her for someone slacking off. It's not Joan's fault she's caught in her body, stuck in a fleshy cage. What else was she to do, if she can't move, then fantasize about men at work? She's not like Lisa, the secretary, with the nice butt and big boobs, who goes out with her boyfriend at night and enjoys casual flings on the side.

So Joan looses her jobs, and in a glimmer of hope, goes to the gym, to try and stop any more paralysis. But everyone stares as her when she enters, and before she even reaches the desk it grabs her again, and she sits in the closest chair, until three hours later a bitch asks her to leave. A bitch that shouldn't have the gifts she's got.

It takes months for Joan to find another job, and a great one it is, self-publishing her hurtful biography, “Caught in a Fat Cage”. But no one appreciates her, and she sells three copies online. Joan tells all her friends, but dogs can't read, and so she finds herself finally doing the dishes, because the smell is too horrible, and she can't afford any more febreeze to spray on it. But the water makes her skin break out, and she falls, and she can't breath because of the way her head is laying and she dies! The poor, poor women. She dies, and she looks out to her dog, barking at the window, while on the other side, a cat sits on a fire escape. She thinks it's beautiful, and this is the mind we lost. One who can take joy, in the simplest things. A rare occurrence.