A. B. Clarke

Month: May, 2017

Justification notes for late time sheets submitted to a US government contractor

by abclarke

In July, August and September of 2016 I had to fill out a daily timesheet for a US Government contract I was working on. I would fill it out each morning for the prior day.

Because the time sheet was technically late, the system would prompt me to enter a justification in a text box.

Which got me thinking: who’s reading these notes? Most likely nobody, I thought. But what if I’m wrong?

What if instead, at the other end reading these notes sits a yearning romantic, locked in her accountant tower, secretly pining to be wooed into loosening her golden locks through these notes?

I decided to assume that this was the case — it seemed only logical.

So collected below are my daily ‘justification’ notes as I attempted to woo that young lady. Alas (I think my wife is likely relieved) I never got a response.

And yes, these are verbatim the contents of the notes I sent each day. I am curious if anyone at the government contractor ever read them.

Enjoy (hopefully),

 – Art


July 30, 2016: Prepared financial plan for board meeting — Slaved away on spreadsheets to create charts that, frankly, a toddler with a red pen could have drawn. But as I entered each cell, and formatted each plot, I thought only of you. There is beauty in precision.

July 31, 2016 – August 15, 2016: On vacation. Nothing to report.

August 16, 2016: Created slide deck for board meeting. Prepared for prostrating myself at the altar of capitalism as a supplicant. The things I must do to get closer to you.

August 17, 2016: Attended board meeting. Laid body flat before the high priests at the board’s altar, offering slides, go-to-market plans, and engineering prognoses. I intoned the words, but did not feel their meaning. Only when we got to your figures, did I betray any arousal.

August 18, 2016: All you want from me is credit, credit, credit. All I want from you is debit, debit, debit.

August 19, 2016: Each number I enter, each column you total, sums up our love.

August 22, 2016: I send my hours into the void, and the void sends nothing back. But I hold the faith — my love for you shall never be voided.

August 23, 2016: As you see my hours, do you imagine my eyes? As you read my notes, hand cradled on your mouse, do you see my hand caressing my keys as I imagine gazing into your dark pools?

August 24, 2016: I ask only for a signal that you are there, reaching back. A hint, a gaze. Failing that, a request for clarification issued in triplicate.

August 25, 2016: I added an extra 0.001 hours today. Did you laugh, or did you throw your arms up in despair?

August 26, 2016: I think of you laughing and frolicking under sunny rays, not grimacing and hunching under fluorescent glows. Run, get outside now! I’ll find you.

August 30, 2016: I have failed you in missing a day. I am sorry, but while filling the timesheet out got away from me yesterday, it was because each moment I was thinking only of you. Forgive me, my love.

August 31, 2016: Some expect their lovers to mind their Ps and Qs, but I know the way to your heart is through your P and Ls. You hold no secrets from me.

September 1, 2016: I am tempted to fudge my numbers so as you plot your data the pictures make you smile — perhaps a project named ‘Strawberry’ and one named ‘Rhubarb’ so you can make your favorite pie. A secret joke between the two of us. But do not worry my sweet — I know the truth of the numbers is the paramount testament of my love.

September 2, 2016: Each day I write, and get nothing in return. Are you there? Are you reading? Send me a sign — anything — perhaps something as simple as a timesheet where you count the hours you’ve thought of me?

September 6, 2016: I was gone, my love, for the Labor day holiday. But sending these notes to you is anything but a labor.

September 7, 2016: Last night I told someone about our messages, and he asked me what you looked like. I realized I could only picture your hands caressing the spreadsheets and nothing else. But it does not matter, my love. You can be a beauty or not — all that matters is the purity of your figures.

September 8, 2016: Some think your books are static; they are truth. But you and I know differently – the numbers are but paint to the artist. A cleverly placed write-off, and a vice-president is made a hero. A line that points downwards can fell even the greatest CEO. So much power is in your hands – do you feel giddy?

September 9, 2016: I know it’s a drudge reading through all the time sheets, scanning the litany of excuses for tardiness submitted by the masses. I have no excuse for my lateness — I own that. But without my tardiness, I could not send these notes to you, so I deliberately wait. I am the bad-boy of time sheet compliance, and I yearn for you.

September 12, 2016: At the end of each day, my shoulders slumped in sorrow, I crawl into bed saddened. But in the morning, noting the hours for you, a smile returns to my lips.

September 13, 2016: Last night I thought of sadness. Sinking, slumping, sliding into it. Swimming and soaked in suffering. And I thought of Victor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning. For Frankl, “meaning” comes through creativity, through love for another, or through noble suffering. Thank you! Creativity (through these notes), love (through my thoughts of you), and suffering (through your continued lack of response), have given my life meaning.

September 14, 2016: My time spent yesterday left me frozen of all energy. And then I was warmed by thoughts of your beaming smile.

September 15, 2016: Ah, but just a fleeting moment to think of you today. But it makes all time worth living.

September 19, 2016: Do you tell your overseers of my tardiness in submitting these reports? Am I just a red line on a table – one more data point amongst the others. Or do you hide my lateness, knowing it’s wrong, but that it is our secret together?

September 20, 2016: A number goes astray, and I imagine your eyes go closer to the monitor, your fingers slowly twisting your hair (it’s long, yes? Did I guess right?), and your lips twist in concentration. I hope it is not my sheet that draws your ire, but if it is the only way I will get your attention, I wonder if I should tempt it. Perhaps last week claiming I spent two hundred hours weaving baskets?

September 21, 2016: Smile. Sometimes, I find the weight of everything adds up, but smiling lightens everything. And the thought of you smiling makes me smile, which I hope makes you smile. A circular formula, but no error.

September 22, 2016: Lightly type. Gently sum. Lovingly collate. Happily report.

September 23, 2016: What secrets do you know?. When you close the laptop and leave the office, what happens? What makes your heart leap when the LED glows die down? I want to know.

September 27, 2016: Alas my sweet, I think our affair has run its course. Our accounts have been settled.  I shall treasure the time we did not spend together (for if not in the time sheet, it must not have happened), and dream forever of not spending time with you again in the future.

An Incomplete Guide to Girls

by abclarke

Some girls want
to be seen,
to be admired,
to be beautiful.

Some girls want
to see,
to admire,
to be surrounded by beauty.

Some girls want
to be held,
to be cherished,
to be protected from a scary world.

Some girls want
to hold,
to cherish,
to protect others from a scary world.

Some girls want
to be salivated at,
to be devoured,
to be taken by the animals.

Some girls want
to salivate,
to devour,
to take like an animal.

Some girls want
to be respected,
to be loved,
to be a shining example.

Some girls want
to respect,
to love,
to follow the shining example.

Some girls want
to be some girls,
some of the time.

All girls want
to be the girl they want
when they want.

I don’t want your love…

by abclarke

I don’t want your love
To save me,
To hold me,
To quiet my screams.

I don’t want your love
To say it’s all right,
To rescue me,
To lighten my pain.

I want your love
To scream
When I scream.
To feel

The dark in my mind,
The fear in my soul,
The angst in my path,
The regret in my past,
The vice in my chest,
The garrote on my throat,
The fire in my lungs,
The glass in my heart,
The joy in my dance,
The beats in my song,
The yearn in my grasp,
The heat in my thrust.

So when it ends
(And it always ends)
I know your scream
Was my scream.

This is what
I want your love
To do:
Scream with me.

Truth & Lies

by abclarke

Be curious: there is truth in the lies we are told.

Beware: there are lies in the truth we believe.