A Bad Feeling
Something almost as bad as loneliness is boredom. Especially boredom you can’t escape.
The walls are beige, the carpet’s dark beige, all the metal and fake wood are beige and brown. The prints on the walls are beige. And brown. And taupe. And gray. And gray-ish, brown-ish purple.
This, after the expensive repainting and recarpeting and general renovation. This was what they came up with.
I know my job but no one cares. It really doesn’t even matter if I do it well or not. Or if I do it quickly or not. Or if I do it cheerfully, or distractedly, or hatefully, or with any feeling whatsoever, or not.
There’s nothing else to do. Nowhere to which to escape except into more nothing-colors and nothing-ness. Go drink some coffee if you want. It’ll only keep your eyes open bigger when there’s nothing to see. Go joke in the hallway with people who feel the same but can’t admit it. You’re caught under water with them all, and nobody’s gonna yell for help.
Count the minutes – count the fucking milliseconds – until you go home. When you get home, you’re too tired to do a goddamned thing.
Your dreams are all colored. All drama, all violence, all sexy, fast fast fast and so very interesting, all night long.
When you wake up, you’re even more tired than before.
No one cares. Time to go back into the beigeness.
