Friday, July 20, 2007 11:58 PM
count to a thousand. and then again.
Every time I get on the mirror paneled elevator, I count.
The number of times my ears pop. The number of 'bings' to tell the next person that it's time to wake up and face another eight hours of constriction. The lighted numbers. The number of feet. The yawns. The smiles.
I'm not a very big fan of numbers but I've taken to counting. It's the next best thing after dancing along to tunes. You see, public display of joy and self-entertainment is shunned so everything self-gratifying is done minimally. And counting doesn't show, at least not obviously.
So guess who whoops for joy and does a lil' jiggy when the elevator is empty? I could probably be the most entertaining individual on the surveillance cameras, if there are any. Oh well, the 'Mexicans' need some bit of entertainment too, right?
It has been prison-like with a long list of rules. Every step, every turn, every move is observed. The need to prove directives is beyond me. The ridiculous reasons behind absurd 'favors' wills me to say something. But of course I don't.
There's to be no more of this.
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It apparently doesn't look professional. Fine. Then she says because I walk in and out of the offices of the 'Big Bosses' and somehow or rather his name came up. She tried dramatics but it so didn't deliver. All she had to do was go with the first line and I'd understand. Sometimes I wonder if she realises that interns have a mind too. A trained one at that. *throws hands in air* She's making me act like a five-year old. She's only satisfied when I act like one anyway.
So much for 'a learning experience like no other. we require speed, precision and achieving is of utmost importance.' It just sounds like an educational experience but in actuality, they're making sure that nothing is learnt unless you consider cutting, pasting, blindly copying as learning.
. . . . .
She's in limbo.
Every turn proves to be a dead end. Either soon to be or already is. She trusted but trust is overrated.
They've said it one too many times assuring that it is an honest thought. Thoughts remain in the head and that's all they are.
Where now? How now? What now?
. . . . .
If you get what you deserve, I must have done something really really rotten some time in the past.
There's no buffering it.
There's no two ways to it.
It's not an act.
If it sounds trivial to you, I guess your shoulder was never mine to cry on.
Maybe a good sob fest will help.
Maybe a ridiculous amount of chocolate will help.
Aah, and maybe cows can fly.
. . . . .
I'm sorry. You weren't here. Actually no one is.
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But as everyone assumes, I'll be fine. Why? Because I'm good at that. minx wrote at11:58 PM
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