Office Creep
Go away. I’m pretend-typing so you won’t approach me. Look away. Leave me alone. I’m engrossed in important work as you can plainly see. I don’t want to hear your crass attempted witty remarks on the weather, or this sad state of affairs or the weather or how tired I look or the weather again. Go away. I don’t care and you creep me out with your inquisitive gaze boring into me. Look away. I don’t want to tell you about my weekend, there’s nothing there for you to grab hold of. In your tamest dreams you never met me and you never will. Keep your shallow words and your shallower thoughts hidden away buried beneath that diseased exterior, deep and far away from me. Go away. We’re trapped in this situation by convenience, randomness, anything but desire so GO AWAY. I’m burying my nose into the monitor for your benefit so just….
Oh, fuck.
Alright, what is it then?
30 July 2007 at 10:28 am
Thank you for so eloquently describing what is very likely to be my Monday in the office.
After nine and a half years worth of enquiries about what I did at the weekend, and then having to listen to exciting tales of what they did, I am just about ready to scream and bite their heads off.
Headphones on, then …
30 July 2007 at 10:37 am
Let’s run away and become the eccentric, alcoholic darlings of the literary world, penning shit poetry and impenetrable prose in the wee hours of all hours and make senseless, useless things and call them art forever.
Yes, where are my headphones?
30 July 2007 at 12:24 pm
You’ve just described most of my life, in and out of the office. Just keep my head down, and my fingers moving, and maybe they’ll leave me alone.
30 July 2007 at 2:47 pm
Bohémienne: Yes, unfortunately certain people are really crap at reading the signs, aren’t they?
31 July 2007 at 12:01 am
Oh, the blind people with 20/20 vision. I know them so well. Somehow they seem to miss the bright flashing light signalling ones interest or give-A-shit level in the conversation at hand.
Green - Yes go ahead, I am mildly interested in the consistency of your nephews excretement.
Orange - I’m mostly non-plussed about the tiny wart on the end of your index finger which had to be burnt off on Saturday.
Red - If you tell me one more time about the colour scheme in your guest bathroom I will stab my very sharpened pencil in your eye.
Hmmm, what was that about being twisted Ani?
31 July 2007 at 12:03 am
Camille: Give-a-shit level? Erm. I think I love you. :)