Writing.

Creating.

Manipulating symbols.

Typing.

Staring at the computer monitor.

Ruining my eyes.

Disappointing my mother.

Depolarizing membrane potentials.

Opening my neurons’ sodium/potassium ion channels.

Sending a signal.

Moving my fingers.

Touching the keys.

Communicating.

Fighting entropy.

Bullshitting.

Constructing an artifice.

Lying.

Sitting.

Getting hungry.

Sitting again, after going to the kitchen.

Eating extra-crunchy peanut butter and jelly on a seven-grain bread.

Going off on a tangent among tangents.

Letting it go for now.

Abusing the gerund form.

Breathing.

Filtering the 20.95% of plant byproducts in the atmosphere.

Pumping plasma, along with erythrocytes, thrombocytes, neutrophils, eosinophils, basophils, lymphocytes, and monocytes.

Detonating adenosine triphosphate.

Mentioning only the really important of the myriad biological processes occuring within.

Producing sperm.

Going bald, ever-so-slowly.

Fighting entropy.

Losing.

Destroying.

Deconstructing.

Confusing.

Surviving the explosion of approximately 1,000 atoms of radioactive potassium-40 within my body every second.

Thanking whoever gave birth to those nerdy guys who created Google.com, so that I may have quick, easy access to these factoids.

Assuming they must be nerdy.

Remembering they probably aren’t the ones home alone on a Saturday, writing a fucking poem.

Writing a fucking poem.

Going to not talk about the damn neutrinos and gamma rays and all that shit.

Splitting infinitives.

Trying not to think about that one thing to keep from getting put in this poem.

Checking my e-mail.

Passing on Plexus, the NATURAL male enhancement product with both immediate and long-term results.

Being, dammit.

Letting my mind wander.

Floating in space.

Spinning.

Revolving.

Precessing.

Hurtling.

Gravitating.

Pulling on the Earth.

Pulling on Mars.

Pulling on goddamned everything.

Decohering quantum-entangled mumble mumble…

Keepin’ it real, yo.

Kidding myself.

Amusing myself.

Attempting to amuse myself.

Making my voice heard, at least.

Wishing it had something smarter to say.

Living in a society.

Paying taxes.

Thinking of moving to Japan.

Thinking of taking a masturbation break.

Groaning and shaking my head.

Making a double entendre.

Meaning really "groaning and shaking my head because of a certain objective exasperation I apperceive when reflecting upon my own blasé displays of vulgarity."

Getting annoying.

Sighing in resignation.

Changing the subject.

Trying not to think about that one thing again to still keep from getting put in this poem.

Hiding.

Surviving.

Enduring.

Adapting.

Evolving.

Learning.

Forgetting.

Fighting entropy.

Going on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on.

Editing.

Living with it.

Leaving an awful lot off the list.

Getting tired of this.

Quitting.

Adding just one more.