The exception that proves the rule. A blog of short writings from Australia and England.
Monday, 13 February 2017
Dreaming Of A Quiet Isthmus
I had the nightmare again. The one where I'm driving to work. The one where I arrive and spend nine hours sitting at a desk. The one where the boss walks in and tells me that he's going to be putting me to the test. That so far this month KPI's are down and so he's 'sorry', but he needs to be a pest. Suddenly I'm sitting, hunched over wearing an ugly work appropriate vest, my co-worker slaps me and calls me a faggot "in jest", whilst my lunch is finding someone else's insides in which to digest, and everyone is laughing behind my back at every single idea that I suggest. At the end of each day for some reason I'm feeling lucky to be this oppressed, because the alternative in this nightmare world is to be unemployed, and that would certainly make one feel depressed.