An Existential Pilot

It is a round silver button on my desk with the word "pilot" in all capitol letters.

I would like to turn my thoughts into numbers and divide them into categories. Then I could make a coversheet for each group, gather the corners into a stack, and slam my palm against the button to seal them together. Forever.

Jenine has several children, and I'm sure they keep her occupied. She has an attentive husband: he keeps her content. She loves her job and hugs her coworkers. But does she feel sometimes like she's in a clear box tumbling through space, interacting with people through it's deceptive walls (like me).

She takes me to the bathroom to show me how the squeak of the door sounds exactly like that pop song. I guess it's the little things for everybody.