Sick Furious Halo

This morning I slept in, it was hard to get up, but somehow I did, and bumped from wall to wall like I was in a big pinball machine. I bounced into the bathroom, yanked the taps and landed beneath the water jet. In a little while, I got out and put my clothes on, I wear the same clothes every day. Not the exact same clothes, I have identical sets, not a work uniform, my uniform. I wear the same outfit every day.
Since I slept in, I could only ride my bike to work. If I walked, I would be too late. I pushed my bike out the door. I locked the door. Was Thelma there? I always check. She's my old neighbour and I go past her apartment to get out. If she is there, I will get a weather report, and do my best to make some conversation. Sometimes if I have a good line about the weather, she will use it back at me a week later. I always laugh, like she came up with it.
As I move past her door I see her bent over in the bathroom, her big hump making her into a triangle, I got past without discussing the weather, and pushed my bike onto the footpath and strapped my silver stormtrooper robot helmet to my head.
Peddling up the street I watch the front wheel wobbling. It looks crazy. One of the spokes is broken and the wobble gets crazier every day. On the downhill main street I go fast and watch the front wheel wobble faster. Will it collapse today? Will today be the day? I imagine it happening, I see it clearly, the wheel flies off and the bike stops dead but I continue, in the air, but at an angle, coming down beneath the careless wheels of a bus, or a big truck. Too bad. I'll get the day off work. My boss will look at the clock, vibrating with rage and impatience. I'll never arrive, she will get angrier, but too bad, my body will be broken up on a busy road, my eternal soul flying up high above the insane traffic.
Today is not the day, my wheel stays connected, still wobbling in desperation to be free, but connected.
On the way I stop at the IGA to get more cereal. I get those variety eight packs, with tiny boxes of Corn Flakes, Nutri Grain, Special K, Just Right, Sultana Bran, and Cocoa Pops, and some other HEALTHY grain type I forget. I walk up the aisle with the breakfast cereal and, I look and see empty space. They're all out of the Eight Packs. There's nothing there, I can see nothing there but space, empty space where the EightPacks should be. A small rage takes hold of me, some ridiculous despair. I keep looking but they are still not there. I walk around to the bakery cabinet and take an apple muffin. That will have to do, I guess. It's not so bad, really. Not so bad. Really.
Outside, I get back on my bike and race off, trying not to hit or get hit by anything. The traffic swarms around me and these people are dangerous, I've seen their eyes. They mean it. They will get to work at lightning speed, and fuck whoever they happen to run over on the way.
I get to work, jam my deadly bicycle under the spiral stairs and walk up and unlock the office. I walk through the office, turn on the postmeter, turn on the printer, unlock the other door, talk to myself LOUDLY, nobody is there, I am the KING of the office now. I make loud statements to nobody and wave my arms around, striding. I stomp over to my desk and turn my stupid computer on, it pretends to wake up like a real human, but I know better, it's just a stupid machine.
I get the muffin out of my bag and start eating it, then put it down and go downstairs to the loading dock for the mailbag. I haul it upstairs and empty it onto the bench. I eat some more muffin. I go and sort some of the mail. The things in plastic can go straight into the pigeonholes, I don't need to stamp them, I don't need anybody around for that. The boss will be here any minute. It's Monday. She's never in a good mood on Monday. She will be here pretty soon. My COLLEAGUE has the day off. Normally she helps me with the mail. Boss hates opening the mail, it must make her feel low. But she has tiny dogs and when she walks them outside, doesn't she have to scoop up their poop? She goes behind the dogs, those tiny dogs, and they squat suddenly, and she is there, ready with a plastic bag inside out over her hand, waiting for the poop to finish coming out of the little dog's anus, steaming and hot. She scoops it up right away! People walk by watching her, people see my boss scooping up the little fresh hot turds in her hand...
Boss, she arrives, grunts something about morning, turns her computer on, comes around to help me with the piles of mail. She says nothing, she slams the date stamp down on a letter. It rings in my ear. I turn my head and look at her, slamming everything.
Her rage vibrates around her, like a sick furious halo.