bitterdiva

Succumb

Deep into the dungeon of my cubicle I hold my heart in a tiny black box. Every morning when I enter the building and head up the stairs, round the corner, do the death march to the end of the aisle, turn and enter my dungeon I remove my heart. Some days I leave it in my car so I don’t have to burden myself with carrying it up the stairs and torturing it with the inanity of workplace logistics. I become a cold and heartless goddess plotting the demise of the world as my brain instantly goes numb by the sound of the continuing print job that never ceases to finish.

I’m becoming angrier and angrier as each day passes. The load increases and I slowly feel all my hopes and dreams being sucked out of my body to become oil for the machine that runs the organization. Some days the light at the end of the tunnel is a note from an administrator that says ‘we are poor, you’re next to go, pack you bags.” From the surface it looks bad, but I fear it’s the only way I will ever escape. I shouldn’t complain, after all, I come from a short line of survivalists.

I wonder if it would be much easier working for Wolfram and Hart? Probably not since they’re all dead.

11:24 AM

Comments

Posted by: zazen at February 26, 2003 08:20 AM

Posted by: zazen at February 26, 2003 08:20 AM

Posted by: Kristian at February 27, 2003 11:17 AM

Post a comment