Pens. Bills. Vitamin Water. Mountain Dew. Some stupid corporate give away bendy thing. A clock. My Aviator sunglasses. Inc. magazine. Security Clearance Survey. This is my fucking desk. This is where I ended up after 25 years. This is not where I will be soon enough. Making the decision to give up everything until it comes back to you as though you were putting a table on it's vortex to let the keys slide down onto the floor is a decision that I want to make. This is what will happen. Everyone will come to the house one day and I will have a UHaul outside and I will be packing up my things and giving the rest away. People will look at me and ask me what's going on. I will be the biggest dick you have ever seen and simply say, "Go fuck yourself. You have no idea who I am." Because in actuality, very few do. Very few ever will, because that's the way it's supposed to be. That's the way it will be until everything comes back full circle again, just like those keys. Only this time I'll catch them before they hit the floor and slide under the couch. I can't wait to move on again. I can't wait to hug and thank the people that I'll see again. I can't wait to give them something of mine and have them know how valuable it is to me. I can't way to be gone.