OUTCH!!
I'm putting on my shoes this morning, working my right shoe over my right foot when SNAP! My middle finger is folded back. Of course I cradle my left hand in my arm. That shit HURT!! A softer snap got it back into place. Fuck, I must be getting old. This is insane! I look at my hand before my face. It was beginning to hurt. When was the first time THAT has ever happened to me? I'm pissed because I'm getting old.
How in the Hell is this supposed to happen? You break your fingers PUTTING ON YOUR SHOES?? Yeah, I know it sounds stupid, but only all this stupid shit happens to me. I have to laugh, it's almost like a cosmic joke. I get dressed and head downstairs where I find Paula and her crows lined up to the cafeteria window with coffee cups. The minute Paula sees me she holds back her crows and gives me the right of way to the window. "Everyone," she says over her shoulder to her friends standing behind. "Let him go first. He has to be somewhere early this morning." Thanks Paula. I get my breakfast/lunch and head out to the Way and the Roach Motel. I'm early again, so I eat my breakfast on a pylon not far off and then head upstairs to churn air.
I take my hour walk across town, and then back across the other way. I'm not happy. I get to sit behind a computer, but there are just so many websites blocked that you can't really enjoy yourself. And they are stupid sites, like music and movie sites. Well, only the stupid sites that I want to go on. I just end up on email all day.
I had a lot of time to ruminate on the problems in my life. I am stressed out, burning out. This damn Roach Motel shit is an ass kicker. I never knew just how much work churning air was. I had rather work a double shift shoveling demon shit in Hell, than to churn air here in the Roach Motel all day. In addition, as much as I love computers, I just can't deal with these people using them. I swear to god, if I had my way I would slip into this room and start batting heads off shoulders with a baseball bat. Why do they leave these people alone with computers?
Case in point. The guy next to me boots up his system from scratch. He knows that boot up does not mean system failure, that's good. He gets past the password screen and gets to the Windows desktop. He then goes to the START menu, over to the SHUTDOWN button, and then clicks on restart. The system goes down and transitions, goes through the long process of booting back up until he gets it to the Windows desktop again, clicks the START menu, goes over to the shutdown button, and then clicks on restart again!!! This moron does this five times before standing up and complaining that something is wrong with the computer. He walks off being replaced by a woman who sits down, looks at the boot up process, and starts to move the mouse, looking for the cursor on a screen that is still booting up. So, she does the next intelligent thing. Start slamming the mouse down on the table.
Here are two heads that deserve to be splattered upon the wall. I keep my face in my screen, sighing tiredly. The clock drags, a wounded horse trying to reach a finish line far, far away. It is time for quiet time, just sit there. I look about. Others have also grown tired of churning air and have rested their heads on their desks. The day literally drags on. I'm thinking of what to do, who to write, what to write about. This is the slow death of a life. If these people weren't so stupid they would realize that.
This is SLOW DEATH. I sit back in my chair and listen to the people around me. They are filled with stupid questions and dumb, wrong headed reasonings. I wonder about this. I really do. How the fuck did I get here? Slow death to these urchins is abundant life. They know no better. But I'm bleeding to death here, but the blood is figurative. It's the death of life. It's watching your life fade like a setting sun. Everyday that you walk into the door, you are giving them a day of your life, to do nothing but play bureaucracy. Our FACILITATOR tells us that we can be here in IPE standby for anyway from a few days to a few weeks. A few weeks??
I want another two weeks for sure...but then after that, I'm wheeling and dealing my way out of here. I'm hoping that that internship at Discover Magazine comes through and I can switch that internship with this stupid assed WEP assignment that they want to stick me with. This WEP assignment is supposed to start next Monday, which means that they'll call me upstairs for my stupid assed IPE signing...which is going to be a problem anyway. Another point to stress out about. They have to have all of this out of the way so that I can start this dogshit assignment on Monday.
I want to also protest the IPE if they don't make concession for my doctor appoint- ments. Ugh, this place has nothing but stress for you. It's like being a roach caught in a Roach Motel no doubt. Struggling to get off the sticky surface, they wait as their life passes before their eyes. I am the same way. I sit, staring out of the window in the morning, looking downstairs as people march up and down the sidewalks GOING SOMEWHERE. I'm just wasting time. I'm just staring at life passing me by.
Then it fucking dawns on me. They have Word for Windows. I can write my stories while I'm waiting. I can work on the handbook while I'm waiting. I can work on my writing while I'm waiting. I smile. My brain may work slowly, but it works. I walk out of the Roach Motel this afternoon and head uptown, smiling finally. Excited to go into work tomorrow. I have something to do now, other than sit still and die.
I'm going to finish up on something.
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/06/broken-fingers-of-slow-death.html
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