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It’s the little things. That something was wrong. But he couldn’t figure out what it was. And maybe it was the bed and the direction it was amazing. There was a problem with one of the club shops in one hand. Maybe with the thread count of the sheets. Or maybe it was the bedroom. But whatever it was, it was going to be something that he would have to think about later. Because he had just heard his alarm go off. And he walked out what was clearly an imperfect client. He wondered what might have happened to it. He wondered what might have been going on with it. But he was fairly certain that it was the right time. Because the sun was in just the right spot where it was the previous day when he woke up and got to work on time. So there is no question that if the clock was imperfect, well… there wasn’t really any reason to think about it any further. He had to get out.

As he walked down the hallway to his bathroom to use his shower. Maybe it was something about the hallway. Maybe carpeting or something like that. Or maybe the bathroom. Was the tile off? Was the ceiling peeling? Was the paint not quite perfect? It was difficult to tell. But he didn’t have a whole lot of time to consider it because he really had to take a shower before work. There’s very little more perfect than water. In the right context. And it really felt as though the water was totally perfect. The right temperature and everything as it came out of the shower-head. He felt perfectly relaxed and calm about the whole situation. It really felt like it was coming together for him.

He really felt like everything was perfect. At least in the shower. But the perfection of the water only serves to draw his attention even more to the fact that there is something seriously wrong about the rest of it all. But he didn’t know what I could’ve possibly been in. And his thoughts were round and slowly left the water. Just the right time too. So he turned the shower off. Got out of the shower and proceeded to consider the The thread count of the bed towel that he was driving himself off with. Fairly certain that there were probably a few things wrong with it. But he didn’t really have time to think about it. Everything seems to be more or less on the key about it. Everything seems more or less fine. But it was hard to tell.

And certainly there was something about getting dressed and it always was a problem. The wardrobe was an infinite minefield of potential imperfection. Something must’ve been wrong with one of those pieces of clothing to read even though they were all more or less the same. They were all more or less the same color shade and cut. Everything seemed perfectly uniform. Exactly the way he liked it. Nothing seemed out of place. However, there was certainly something wrong. But he didn’t possibly have been. Because everything seems to be so perfectly in alignment. It was all at the right angle to everything else. Everything that was parallel needed to be parallel and was parallel. But there was clearly something off. And he was ready to take out a T-square and leveler and try to figure out what was wrong with the whole situation but he couldn’t quite figure it out. And he certainly didn’t have time. Not if he wanted to be at work on time. And certainly, he didn’t want to be at work on time. Maybe that was imperfect. Maybe the fact that no one was ever really at work on time meant that he was perfect. Because he was always there at exactly the right minute. Everybody else came in a little late or a little early. But he was walking through the door at the very moment the ship was supposed to start. Michigan and felt so good. Also right. Just the right moment and I was just the right moment that he was straight through the door.

The work itself was never needed. When it arrived at his desk at his terminal. It was his job to come through it all and make sure everything was in form. And he did a really good job of that. It had been something that he took great joy in doing. To the point where he had been offered higher jobs of greater complexity with greater potential for imperfection. But he never wanted those. He is a variable. Too much to try to organize. And everything needed to be perfect and it just wasn’t when you reached management level. So he made sure not to deal with any of that. He made sure to make sure that everything was perfect. Because he wasn’t getting paid enough.

He was getting paid a perfect amount. It was an even dollar amount. It could be divided by two. Not that he would have anyone to divide it with or anything like that. But the possibility was there in case the possibility ever arose. And he was doing everything that he needed to do. It was all perfectly in alignment. Except something was missing. And he couldn’t figure out what it was. Who’s there at the end of the day. Headed home. Everything is perfectly aligned. Everything is perfectly straight. Everything is perfectly clean. And he sat there looking at the TV. He wasn’t actually watching anything. He just liked to know that he could turn it on if he ever wanted to. He just sat there looking at it. Maybe he was looking at his own reflection but he wasn’t doing so for vanity. He’s selling for simplicity. Turn on the TV and there are all kinds of imperfection. Keep it off and there is peace.


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