You work. You work, day in and day out. And you make money.

Not a great amount, not a small amount.

But enough to keep you going back and forth.

Gas becomes your blood and you eat in your car in the morning or sack it across the parking lot only to end up in your trashcan and your stomach in equal parts of refuse and nourishment.

You find your cubicle, decorate it within the limits of Human Resource taste (what irony! What resources!) while you try desperately to rethink the same concept in a new and fresh way for the millionth time by zipping across the Internet to steal pieces of 40 concepts across the first six pages of Google Search and meld them to whatever skeleton you’ve already formed in the back of your fast-food lunch mind, which only barely survived the edge of the smell coming from the break room where someone, philanthropically, is microwaving tuna fish that smells like it’s been laying in the sun for a week.

You eat slowly at your cubicle unless your blood boils unexpectedly and you have to escape to the smoking bench outside or settle for the hard plastic seats of the Taco Bell down the lane.

Sometimes you opt for fasting, then driving.

Driving fast…in your car whose definition of zero to sixty doesn’t translate to the requisite Italian by definition of laughability.

And you have to go back to the place that made you crazy. If for no other reason because you have stuff to do.

You fight for your parking spot, the one five feet closer than somebody else’s because it’s YOURS and you have nothing all that valuable except for the real estate where your car sits while you sit where other people sit and wonder just how many people have occupied and or farted in the chair you’re sitting on, and whether you should bring a pillow or set fire to the damned thing.

And yes, you make money.

And the envelope comes with the stub and the direct deposit has already filled the top of your cash-hourglass and it’s already pouring out the bottom.

And it’s okay.

It’s okay

It should be okay.

But it’s not.

How was your day, dear?

until the next
Dyer Straits
Tom

Thomas (Tom) Stephan | Director of Something Clever
BoDo Author | Dyer Straits