fans thrilled
excitement overwhelming
boss stops by my desk
gotta stay late
love/hate
overtime
more money/more work.
bedtime
cuddled close to you
extra innings
nothing better
than loving
in a world made
for just us two
Getting use to soccer… football terms like playing on a field… pitch and overtime periods…
I mean stoppage time. Yeah I’ve got some practicing to do… gonna go to the pub and immerse myself in the FC or SC sub culture.
“overtime it will all pass” she said. i mean did she know what he was going through? the anticipation felt like a weight weighing against his neck, choking him.
She wiped her brow. Looking at the clock, her heart sank. It’s only been 20 minutes? That’s it? She stretched her neck and tried not to cry. She wanted nothing more than her couch and her tea and an arm around her shoulders, protectively.
The bed looked inviting and she fell into it. She was so tired and turned over in the clean sheets. But her mind continued to work overtime, thinking about the events of the day and wondering about the consequences. Finally, she stood at the window looking out over the unfamiliar city from the window of a strange hotel.
Not one of my favorite words. Overtime implies more work. Sometimes it is paid while other times it is not paid. Of course, if paid, it comes in handy. Some jobs require one to spend more time on the job than was originally required.
He pushed and pushed, sweat gathering on his forehead and down his back. It’s not like he couldn’t do it, he knew he could, but God was it so hard when it felt like all the world’s against him. If only, if only, he glanced at the jar beside him. If only he could open it, all would be well.
A look at the clock. It spins in circles, and yet the time remains the same. Whether winter or summer, the only sunlight filters though the blinds of the office, and hides its rays once I have left the building. A deep breath in of the night air. Things have built up- snow, time, work, and a twisted knot in my stomach I’m not sure where it came from. I need to go home, I need to eat. I need to sleep. I need to smooth out the dark tangles in my gut, but that will have to wait until tomorrow. Or the next day. Perhaps I can leave it aside until it sorts itself out, resolving me of the responsibility to face whatever feelings have tied themselves so tightly inside me.
I need to go home.
I need to sleep.
“Dude,” asked Sean, “how long have you been working overtime?”
“The past six weeks.”
He nearly spat out his sour mouthful of beer. “Sh**. Really?” He stared at her. “Does your boss know he needs to pay you?”
“He is paying me. I don’t mind it, really. I like being out of the house.”
She didn’t expect Sean to understand. He had no idea what she had been through regarding her home dynamic, and she wasn’t going to try to explain it to him now.
Everything felt like it was overtime. Thinking overtime, talking overtime, breathing overtime. Everything was too much. But then one day, she had all the time in the world.
overtime
she goes
she doesnt know
how to say no
overtime
she goes
fans thrilled
excitement overwhelming
boss stops by my desk
gotta stay late
love/hate
overtime
more money/more work.
bedtime
cuddled close to you
extra innings
nothing better
than loving
in a world made
for just us two
Getting use to soccer… football terms like playing on a field… pitch and overtime periods…
I mean stoppage time. Yeah I’ve got some practicing to do… gonna go to the pub and immerse myself in the FC or SC sub culture.
Overtime is a tiring word. Extra time is what we all need….
I don’t think that I ever got overtime pay. My jobs were such that I was expected to complete the work no matter how long it took.
Some of us work overtime on relationships. Do we get paid back enough for the effort we expend?
I hope so–in love!
“overtime it will all pass” she said. i mean did she know what he was going through? the anticipation felt like a weight weighing against his neck, choking him.
She wiped her brow. Looking at the clock, her heart sank. It’s only been 20 minutes? That’s it? She stretched her neck and tried not to cry. She wanted nothing more than her couch and her tea and an arm around her shoulders, protectively.
The bed looked inviting and she fell into it. She was so tired and turned over in the clean sheets. But her mind continued to work overtime, thinking about the events of the day and wondering about the consequences. Finally, she stood at the window looking out over the unfamiliar city from the window of a strange hotel.
Not one of my favorite words. Overtime implies more work. Sometimes it is paid while other times it is not paid. Of course, if paid, it comes in handy. Some jobs require one to spend more time on the job than was originally required.
He pushed and pushed, sweat gathering on his forehead and down his back. It’s not like he couldn’t do it, he knew he could, but God was it so hard when it felt like all the world’s against him. If only, if only, he glanced at the jar beside him. If only he could open it, all would be well.
A look at the clock. It spins in circles, and yet the time remains the same. Whether winter or summer, the only sunlight filters though the blinds of the office, and hides its rays once I have left the building. A deep breath in of the night air. Things have built up- snow, time, work, and a twisted knot in my stomach I’m not sure where it came from. I need to go home, I need to eat. I need to sleep. I need to smooth out the dark tangles in my gut, but that will have to wait until tomorrow. Or the next day. Perhaps I can leave it aside until it sorts itself out, resolving me of the responsibility to face whatever feelings have tied themselves so tightly inside me.
I need to go home.
I need to sleep.
“Dude,” asked Sean, “how long have you been working overtime?”
“The past six weeks.”
He nearly spat out his sour mouthful of beer. “Sh**. Really?” He stared at her. “Does your boss know he needs to pay you?”
“He is paying me. I don’t mind it, really. I like being out of the house.”
She didn’t expect Sean to understand. He had no idea what she had been through regarding her home dynamic, and she wasn’t going to try to explain it to him now.
always though time would make me get over her
but stil I think about her over time
time is overrated
i hated being the one people hated
getting high just so i can get elevated
no reason to celebrate but i celebrated
A buzzer sounds.
The scores tied.
Both sides of the arena in outrage.
Only a single goal takes the trophy.
A single play to win it all.
Everything felt like it was overtime. Thinking overtime, talking overtime, breathing overtime. Everything was too much. But then one day, she had all the time in the world.