Why I'm not an accountant. . . ..
Its Friday . . . . So yeah. I'm still here at a quarter til 1600, which is very odd for me. Go figure.
Remind me never to become an accountant, for then I truely will have no life and become a hunched figure in a chair with arthritic hands that competently if painfully punch millions on numbers into a calculator while piles of adding tape and scratch paper grow higher and higher burying the graveyard of pencil nubbins and pen carcasses. My jaw stiff, yet the mutterings of dementia grind themselves through my clenched teeth, numbers and formulas and form numbersforcing their way to the front of my confused and decaying mind, repeating and repeating never letting me rest until it is perfect, Until line six equals column nine, and the tax forms on page 354 are correct to the back slash on line 8.26. The grey hair on my head will be frosted with cobwebs, the spiders long dead to which ever writing utensil caught them unawares as I added more to the crown of sticks in my hair. The long cold honey laced tea will be molded the mug glued to the desk so solidly that Alexander the Great would lose a siege, provided that he and his army survived the fight across the wasteland without bleeding to death from papercut. A half eaten package of crackers sitting at my elbow so stale that mice, should they also survive the wasteland would break their teeth. One day as the final tally of numbers finally add up properly and I look up to rest my strained, weary, and numerically shaped pupils, the horror of my self made prison will press its reality into the numb grey matter of my brain until the fear surpasses any satisfaction or delight I might aquire from a job finally done. Then and only then, shall the years and years of toil, frustration, tears, rage, fear, and depression express themselves in a long, loud scream that should rattle the earth more than Wesley's cry of ultimate suffering. Perhaps the dry wall and studs of my office, my tomb would feel the pain and grant me relief by crashing down around me and lending me their knowledge and peace of inanimate objects.
*grins* No, I haven't been thinking of that all day. It just came to me all at once. But I like it.
Remind me never to become an accountant, for then I truely will have no life and become a hunched figure in a chair with arthritic hands that competently if painfully punch millions on numbers into a calculator while piles of adding tape and scratch paper grow higher and higher burying the graveyard of pencil nubbins and pen carcasses. My jaw stiff, yet the mutterings of dementia grind themselves through my clenched teeth, numbers and formulas and form numbersforcing their way to the front of my confused and decaying mind, repeating and repeating never letting me rest until it is perfect, Until line six equals column nine, and the tax forms on page 354 are correct to the back slash on line 8.26. The grey hair on my head will be frosted with cobwebs, the spiders long dead to which ever writing utensil caught them unawares as I added more to the crown of sticks in my hair. The long cold honey laced tea will be molded the mug glued to the desk so solidly that Alexander the Great would lose a siege, provided that he and his army survived the fight across the wasteland without bleeding to death from papercut. A half eaten package of crackers sitting at my elbow so stale that mice, should they also survive the wasteland would break their teeth. One day as the final tally of numbers finally add up properly and I look up to rest my strained, weary, and numerically shaped pupils, the horror of my self made prison will press its reality into the numb grey matter of my brain until the fear surpasses any satisfaction or delight I might aquire from a job finally done. Then and only then, shall the years and years of toil, frustration, tears, rage, fear, and depression express themselves in a long, loud scream that should rattle the earth more than Wesley's cry of ultimate suffering. Perhaps the dry wall and studs of my office, my tomb would feel the pain and grant me relief by crashing down around me and lending me their knowledge and peace of inanimate objects.
*grins* No, I haven't been thinking of that all day. It just came to me all at once. But I like it.