Mood Piece December 29 2017

The small glass tray of the microwave spins slowly around. You know you're not supposed to look, but you cannot look away. The pizza rolls shimmer in the hazy radiation. How long have you been here? It doesn't matter. Time means nothing to the pizza rolls, they stand as a scar on the face of rationality. You laugh silently to yourselves and bare your teeth. You suppose this means you're happy. At least that’s what your third grade teacher would say. She was right about you. She was right about everything. You carve this into the table again. The phone rings, but you're too smart to be fooled the same way twice, you won't be distracted again. The microwave ding cuts through your thoughts. Its time you think, resigned to a slowly crumbling universe. You carefully pull the semi-frozen, semi-molten pizza rolls from the device and walk them quickly to the other side of the kitchen. Somewhere in the house you hear a clock tic. With a shudder you throw the pizza rolls away. Today is your birthday, after all.