As he poked me in my back for the seventh time, albeit playfully, I looked behind and glared. My lack of a smile shocked him, and it made him uneasy. He felt it was just a joke, a way of calling my attention; a way of publicly showing that we were good friends.
But my mind was elsewhere. Work duties were getting to me, making me edgy. I needed to escape to someplace else, anywhere but the here and now; I managed this through some trivial reveries, but his constant poking kept bring me back into the present. Whoever thought of the saying of being fully alive in the moment must have been on Prozac when he thought it up.
Another friend of mine, sitting beside me, oblivious to all that had just gone on, jabbed me on my arm, and smiled; he too wanted to have fun with me. A millionth of a second before snapping back at him with a curse King Tut would have been proud of, I took a deep breath and looked away.
Some days solitude just doesn’t seem to be so bad a thing.