An excerpt from my work journal...
If the first day on the job was bad, the second is the first's enema. On my way from the HR "cube" to my own work space, I was forced to walk by four 3'x5' American flags and about a dozen smaller, yet still prominently displayed Old Glories. I hear a hum of both flourescent lights and the servers. Is it bad to want a drink at 9:00 am?
Fifteen minutes later
How about 9:15? Is that any better?
Placing photographs on the walls is a painful reminder that I once went to college. It's as though I've moved into my new prison. I could just take all of my effects with me when I leave for lunch and then never come back. Maybe I should run, like Xaviér in L'auberge Espagnole when the senior office workers show him his office and talk about the red, yellow, and blue binders. Why must I be usurped by reality?
3 Comments:
You're so right. The sad part is that I drank a pitcher of margaritas last night (and the night before)and didn't have any left to have for a delicious breakfast treat.
Reality is a detailed illusion. You have nothing to fear of it. You only have to usurp it. It is as easy as a thought. The time will come soon. You will know the sign. The Melting Lords of oblivion are always accepting. They will never betray you.
oh... oh my god.
and no, you didn't have a pitcher of margaritas last night. unless you lied to me then had a beach party without me. how sad!
:)
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