My motivation when writing about my work experiences
is the hope that the time wasn’t entirely wasted
that I’ll remember something
in those forgettable days
that is worth writing down
or that the time I spent
with the people at work
Basically, I’m looking for redemption
knowing, that I burned through too many days
I was asked once, “How long have you been with us?”
It had been three years, but my manager didn’t know
I stayed because everything became familiar
I stayed because I didn’t know where else to go or what else to do
It always shocks me when the people I have gotten used to
take two steps back
when I’m talking to them
It’s an insult—even though nothing is said.
It’s a horror—to think I don’t know the people I spend most of my life with
Many of them—I don’t want to know
and they don’t want to know me.
There is a polite relationship, based-on superficial tasks
that always get done, despite difficulties
and most people want to be well-thought-of
in this system
but they don’t think of each other—
they don’t care
They just want to get by with a minimum of difficulty.
Why am I writing about my work experiences?
It’s the necessity of doing meaningless work that seems insane
I can’t buy anything—other than food and time
because working, costs too much.