I’m so desperate I’d lay the table.

My stiff eye encrusted with salty sleep focuses watery-vague on the screen in front of me and that itch on my back needs scratching but I’m not allowed to stop typing so I keep my head straight like Winston in 1984 who feared the glare of the telescreen would decipher his thoughts by the expression on his face but that itch has gone now so I can rest easy sitting in my room unwatched by anyone/thing with the dulcet tones of a radio humming behind me in the background of my mental-Being which spans throughout the house like a spiders web so I can sense any movement in any room from the slightest vibrations but this is not my only existence as I have my mind set aside in a little jar by the door which leads to the termination of this tiresome punctuation famine. Here we are. Its good to be back, comma, a love thee, I, really, really, love, thee, and, not forgetting you. My full stop. Always waiting for me to finish. Waiting for me after work. You. There’s also: the colon: my friend: I don’t see you often but when I do it’s a good time. Your brother the semicolon is not so close to me; I often feel uncomfortable in his presence; I never quite know what he’s doing and sometimes he won’t leave when you want him to. The question mark comes to some of my parties but doesn’t tend to be problematic; he never seems to have the answer though does he? I suppose that’s not his job. If I ever write anything this bad again, I’m going to throw my self off the top deck of a moving bus! Oh there’s the exclamation mark, only comes round when I’m shouting. I better go and check the timetable on the bus stop; the busses only come once or twice an hour in this horrid town.