"I Turn To Type Again"

I wrote this while slogging away at a previous crap job. I think it fits nicely with the predicament I'm in now:

"As I sit and type yet another million words dictated by someone less interesting than me in an office with an atmosphere not unlike the ghastly gaseous and unbreathable venus, I watch the clock.

Tick tick tick...

Tick tick tick...

I watch it and wait, then turn to type again.

This existence sucks... it reeks of failure and stagnant servitude. I'm replaceable and unimportant, yet minute to minute I am extremely important.

If I dont type, letters dont go out.

If letters dont go out, people get irate.

If people get irate then they tell other people, who love to take it upon themselves to abuse any and all hapless, replaceable and unimportant servants of the system: Me.

*sigh*

My life is a wheel. It turns and turns, always getting somewhere, but never anywhere new. Punctures, like sneezes and hiccups, become an interesting and entertaining side show, splitting the mundane moments into exciting chapters which carry the day forward faster.

How sad it is to wish time to scurry along faster. Who in their right mind would crave for the days to fly by without depth and intrigue, all for the sake of ending the painful moments of hideous servitude? As time passes we grow older, and who wants to be an old clockwatcher?

Tick tick tick...

I turn to type again."