Clearing out

How much junk gathers in two years' time. In the little space I have here at my desk, there are a zillion files and folders. Dusty, useless. A million old notepads, none of which even makes sense to me now.

The only interesting things I have found are the doodles and scribbles from long, seemingly unending meetings. Little scraps of conversation, tic-tac-toe, sketches, a bit of creative writing. Here is one such. The meeting in question was so boring that I remember the finer details of the chair I was sitting on that day. Pardon the bad poetry, but such was the day.

A silent scream of ennui
emerges from the pit
of my stomach.
With no place to go,
it explodes in my head.
Wild hair and errant eyes
Flailing arms and torn clothes
My spirit bangs its head
on the walls of my heart.
System error.
Hard disc failure
Ctrl Alt Del
Ctrl Alt Del
Beep
Blink

And yet another. This during a post-lunch session of in-house training. This was the only way I would stop from snoring.

"Where is the question," he asks. Where indeed is the question?
I am looking, I am looking; don't rush me.
The cupboard, an old carton, rigid chairs, an office table... Where in the world is that darned question? It couldn't have slipped out, it's too soon.
Is there a shredder in the room? Perhaps it fell into that. Uh-oh...
Hey! What's this falling off my head? It's a word...
Oh no! The question fell into my thought shredder...!

:D Who said nothing creative happens around here? Might be really bad, but it ain't dead.