| 1~5~00 |
| Over slept for nothing. I have nothing pressing to attend
to in the mornings: no school, no job, no milking cows. Regardless,
I feel 10:30 a touch late in the day to be rising. It means what
is important gets put off until tomorrow if I manage to haul ass out of
bed at a more responsible hour.
The cars out of gas. The wallets out of dollars. The days short on hours. The day is short on hours because I have to go to work to feed the car and the wallet. I have to feed the wallet to feed the car and I have to feed the car to get to work to collect the feed and that is, once again, precisely why the day is short of hours. And that's why this is so short. |
move along.
| After the maddening 80 mph dart and weave across five freeways
to work, I arrived there to find, as I do every morning, a parking lot
bristling with automobiles. There is no room. The valets seem
delirious with their job of shifting and shuffling cars about. This
is a job for people who really love those games where you move little square
segments of a picture around to finally get all the images organized into
a proper picture. Not wanting to add torment to their game, I head
to the street where I find a spot a reasonable quarter mile from the door.
My trek begins, giving me enough time to thoroughly soak, virtually sautéing,
in the slow stab of rage working its hot little way up the back of my head.
"It's little things like this that cause people to quit. Tea in the
breakroom is not enough bitches!" Then, I think about all the people
without cars who could care less about over crowded parking lots and see
the stupidity, the rich boy bratiness, of my anger. The high tide
of blood to the face recedes, pulse rate drops, jaw unclenches, hair stops
falling out, and the offensive assemblage of phonemes hither to ready to
jump off to war from the springboard of my tongue, fall into ease, disarray
and then disperse. Ahhhh. Release the endorphins! I feel
better, and then ten minutes later the bastards do it to me all over again.
Once again I keep all seething under the lid.
They give me my schedule (3:45pm to 12:15pm) with Tuesdays and Wednesdays off. I find this unacceptable. I'm not going to be rash. I'll continue working for them. The schedule will kick in. I'll call in sick, catholic or whatever on Sundays and until they are fed up with that enough to get rid of me, I'll work for the blighters contentedly. I also, as Baldric on the "Black Adder" was fond of saying, "have a cunning plan." I'll post the cunning plan online once the cunning plan comes to fruition. My day must commence. Bank. Gas station. Work. Home. Sleep. Wake up late. Write about it. I couldn't be a more exciting person. Next |