The days I have missed

     Do you ever wonder about my secret life? The one you don't get to read about - the me that isn't encapsulated by this blog? What do I do when I am not sitting in a gray plastic chair with the eerie white glow of a patient and obediant screen reflecting off my face? Maybe nothing.
     I changed the background of my gmail to look like a desk. I wondered about it when I did it. It is not a desk, it is a screen. Should it look like a desk?
     I made you a promise to write again soon, and then I went missing for weeks. What you don't know is that I was kidnapped. It happened at work. I was sitting, bored, at the desk, balancing the punk rubber eraser, trying to make it stand, when a small hole appeared next to my foot. I glanced down at it , surprised and stared. The hole was black and round and intruiging. It started to grow. I rolled my chair back from the hole, wary of suddenly appearing things, an instinct I picked up in childhood. I've never met a thing that appeared suddenly that I liked. The hole continued to grow until my chair just sort of fell into it and it closed over my head. When I awoke, I was sitting at the desk, face planted against a stack of paperclips, my cheek a paperclip shaped mess. Several weeks had gone by. I wondered myself about the me that I had forgotten; about the things that I had done that I couldn't remember; a different me in a different world.