I struggled to get out of bed this morning. The bed felt feathery, and I was at the right level of sleepy. I didn’t want to get out, but I was forced. It was after five, and I would’ve stayed if I’d given myself permission, and I would’ve overslept. But who cares? I don’t even feel like writing. I don’t feel like doing anything. My job has me handcuffed. I’ve lost interest in everything.

I had a dream where I was taking a night class in a classroom with the best quarterback in the world: Mr. Patrick Mahomes. The English teacher assigned us a poetry assignment and elected Patrick to give us the subject.

He said he wanted the poem to be about 1960s women’s fashion in Norway and how it affected women’s culture. What a tough assignment, Mr. Mahomes. Poetry is difficult enough. Why must you make it harder with the subject you’re giving us now? I would have to research women’s fashion in 1960s Norway and find its impact on women’s culture in the decade.

I raised my hand and asked the teacher, “Why must we write about such a difficult subject, let alone have it be poetry?”

Mr. Mahomes turned around at his desk to face me and said, “There are two types of people in the world. You’re a ‘me’ person and I’m not.”

He turned back around in his desk to face forward and everyone applauded his statement except me. After all, he’s Patrick Mahomes. He would be applauded of course. Whatever he says is like a quote from Gandhi.

So everyone began the assignment, but not me. I was lost for words. I couldn’t come up with any in the context of women’s fashion culture in the 1960s in Norway.

Patrick turned around once more and smirked at me after his light jab at my personality. He bothered me to the point where I couldn’t start the assignment. Good thing I brought my smartphone, and I could look up the subject on Google. Lucky for us all, Norwegian women’s fashion reflected the American fashion of the decade. Women wore like late sixties Bohemian floral and paisley prints, mini skirts, turtlenecks, headbands, large sunglasses, knee-length dresses, bodices, beaded necklaces, wool coats in the winter with scarves and gloves, low heels or gogo boots, and shirt designs of checks and polka dots. It added enough flair to my free verse poem. I forgot what it was, but of course Mr. Mahomes wrote the most popular poem out of all. He’s the best quarterback in the world.

I woke up and never got back to sleep. The morning was still dark, the fan blowing against my tired body. Now it’s Wednesday. It’s going to be another struggle full of mistakes and pressure with my job. I want to quit today, but I can’t. I’m not a salesperson. I don’t wish to sell products, so when am I going to write to human resources? Should I wait until next week or do it before the week is over? Maybe I’ll spend eternity wishing I was alive. Death will suck as much as life. Somewhat of a humorous take on both.