Octipussen

I’m an octipussen. I’m running a meeting, texting my mom, and arguing with my printer. My coffee is dead. My life is chaos.

My boss is an octipussen. She’s yelling at three people, typing with one hand, and eating a donut with the other. I’m scared.

That kid in class is an octipussen. He’s solving a math problem, drawing a dragon, and talking to his goldfish at the same time. I’m impressed.

My coworker is an octipussen. She’s throwing paper at the printer, yelling at the computer, and trying to calm down her boss with a smile. It’s a warzone.

I’m an octipussen. I’m using my feet to press buttons, my nose to smell the coffee, and my voice to scream at my phone. I’m a monster.

My dad is an octipussen. He’s cooking breakfast, talking to his boss on the phone, and trying to stop his dog from eating my homework. He’s a superhero.

My teacher is an octipussen. She’s grading tests, writing on the board, and telling us all to be quiet. She’s like a tornado in a classroom.

My friend is an octipussen. He’s eating a burger, playing a video game, and trying to talk to his crush. He’s a lunatic.

My mom is an octipussen. She’s cooking, talking to her sister, and trying to remember where she put her keys. She’s a wizard.