(no subject)
You know, I hate to do a best of, but...sometimes I need to draw inspiration from my younger self:
http://im-not-real.livejournal.com/2003/11/24/
November 24th , 2003.
10:48 am
10151 Deerwood Park Blvd building 400 , 4th floor , cubicle 4267. Work is slow lately. Another case of computers replacing people. Not a bad thing neccesarily. This job is dull , very manual and no human should ever be subjected to it. Sitting here outside of the big wig's office. Listening to their boisterous , no no, OBNOXIOUS laughter. Starring at my internet-impaired computer , with nothing coming in on the fax. My clipboard's empty. No data to enter , no phone calls to answer. Just me , alone , in my cubicle wasting my youth away.
I have a life support system though. My radiohead cd , track 5. I'm starring at my clock. It's 10:58 am now. Ten mins down. If my fucking co-worker would leave me alone for 30 secs I could get into the zone here. No, I dont want to hear abour your weekend , or your dating life. (I'm alone by choice at work)
11:03 Radiohead rifts remind me of my time spent in Madison Square. The trotting beats induce flashbacks of a thousand silhouetted heads moving as one before an epileptic Englishman. His voice almost seemed to leave the starge, soar around the arena , and return to its creator. Powerful Choreographed lights blast my sight into submission , forcing me to close my eyes and take in nothing but the music , and leave my body behind.
11:14 am I feel like i'm in a concentration camp. If they find out i'm doing something creative , free thinking , i could be reprimanded. My mind feels corroded from the 18 month spent here. Before I had co-workers to socialize with , now it's just the hum of the machines. The same mechanical business converations and the same elevator chatter that makes me cringe each time I hear it. Small talk is such a waste. Kurt Cobain once said " I find everyday conversations so mundane and pointless , i'd rather be sleeping instead" A belief I've taken into my adulthood. "So how about this weather?" ....So what about it? It's weather. Please endure the awkward silence for 30 seconds. I dont want to speak to you , you 50 year old mortgage drone! I'm repressing my rebellious , childlike side. I really am. However , that side is becoming more intolerant of the monotony each passing day. It's only a matter of time before I break down and quit , but it'll be more of a direction change than a break down.
11:25 am:
Track 11 Ahhhhhhhhhhhh a-h-h-h-h-h
I dont know , why you bother. Nothing's ever good enough for you! I was there....was it like that? You've come here just to start a fight. You had to push , you had to...what's he saying? I can never understand him above a certain pitch.
Two years ago , in school , i remember having childhood/teenage memories unlocked. So many were flooding my mind. Now it's rare I remember anything past last week.
The rain drops, the train stops, my engine knocks, i'm so late, for work again.
The rain drops. The raindrops. The rain drops. Puddles splashing pedestrains parallel to the parkway.
11:36 am. I'm bored again.
http://im-not-real.livejournal.com/2003/11/24/
November 24th , 2003.
10:48 am
10151 Deerwood Park Blvd building 400 , 4th floor , cubicle 4267. Work is slow lately. Another case of computers replacing people. Not a bad thing neccesarily. This job is dull , very manual and no human should ever be subjected to it. Sitting here outside of the big wig's office. Listening to their boisterous , no no, OBNOXIOUS laughter. Starring at my internet-impaired computer , with nothing coming in on the fax. My clipboard's empty. No data to enter , no phone calls to answer. Just me , alone , in my cubicle wasting my youth away.
I have a life support system though. My radiohead cd , track 5. I'm starring at my clock. It's 10:58 am now. Ten mins down. If my fucking co-worker would leave me alone for 30 secs I could get into the zone here. No, I dont want to hear abour your weekend , or your dating life. (I'm alone by choice at work)
11:03 Radiohead rifts remind me of my time spent in Madison Square. The trotting beats induce flashbacks of a thousand silhouetted heads moving as one before an epileptic Englishman. His voice almost seemed to leave the starge, soar around the arena , and return to its creator. Powerful Choreographed lights blast my sight into submission , forcing me to close my eyes and take in nothing but the music , and leave my body behind.
11:14 am I feel like i'm in a concentration camp. If they find out i'm doing something creative , free thinking , i could be reprimanded. My mind feels corroded from the 18 month spent here. Before I had co-workers to socialize with , now it's just the hum of the machines. The same mechanical business converations and the same elevator chatter that makes me cringe each time I hear it. Small talk is such a waste. Kurt Cobain once said " I find everyday conversations so mundane and pointless , i'd rather be sleeping instead" A belief I've taken into my adulthood. "So how about this weather?" ....So what about it? It's weather. Please endure the awkward silence for 30 seconds. I dont want to speak to you , you 50 year old mortgage drone! I'm repressing my rebellious , childlike side. I really am. However , that side is becoming more intolerant of the monotony each passing day. It's only a matter of time before I break down and quit , but it'll be more of a direction change than a break down.
11:25 am:
Track 11 Ahhhhhhhhhhhh a-h-h-h-h-h
I dont know , why you bother. Nothing's ever good enough for you! I was there....was it like that? You've come here just to start a fight. You had to push , you had to...what's he saying? I can never understand him above a certain pitch.
Two years ago , in school , i remember having childhood/teenage memories unlocked. So many were flooding my mind. Now it's rare I remember anything past last week.
The rain drops, the train stops, my engine knocks, i'm so late, for work again.
The rain drops. The raindrops. The rain drops. Puddles splashing pedestrains parallel to the parkway.
11:36 am. I'm bored again.