Here's a little bit from a short story I've been working on:
Tuesday will be no different from Monday. The work week never is. Adult life is almost like the instructions on a shampoo bottle, lather, rinse, repeat. Only it’s work, sleep, repeat. You’ll wake up late for work. The bright green flashing lights on the alarm clock will let you know that you should have left a good ten minutes ago. Hop out of bed, skip the shower, you’ll do it when you get home. It’s just work after all. You don’t need to shower to just sit there, at the job that promised challenges but never really gave you any. There’s no one there to impress, there’s nothing there that’s impressive. Run to the bathroom to take care of the essentials: wash your face, brush your teeth, take a piss. Trip over the laundry, the cat, whatever the hell was on the floor. Throw together some clothes that barely pass the "business casual" dress code. Wonder why all of your work clothes makes you look like such a schmuck while catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror to fix your bedhead hair. Grab the necessary, wallet, cell phone, keys, granola bar. Drive to work, stop at Dunkin Donuts for coffee, you’re going to be late anyway, what’s five more minutes?
The day will go by much like yesterday and the workday before that. Work, work work, or push paper to make it seem like you’re working. Administrative Assistant hangs under your name plaque, it sounds fancy, but you know it’s really just an over-glorified term for secretary. Having a name plaque is there to make you feel fancy, it doesn't. Sit in your cube and feel like a cog. Your boss resents you because you don’t give enough effort, you stopped putting in any effort because your boss treated you like a child. While you’re sitting there doing menial data entry or answering the phone any of the following are acceptable activities to keep you sane: :
a. Doodling or sketching your latest painting
b.. Checking Buzzfeed, Flavorwire, Facebook
c. Make your grocery list (at least that’s productive)
d. Daydream.
If it’s a good day, you’ll be able to accomplish all four without making anyone in your office suspicious of your lack of work productivity. Check your email frequently, it's your only connection to the outside world. Your boyfriend, Eric, the one you live with, the one you’ve been for what feels like forever, the one your grandmother has been begging you to marry already so you can give her more great grandchildren, emails you frequently either with silly links or other random finds from the internet. It's nice to know you're not the only non productive one at work. Don't question if being in contact with each other is a bad thing, his emails provide you with entertainment that make the day go from torturous to almost bearable. Abby, your best friend will email you sporadically, she commiserates with you on the horrors of working a nine to five and starts planning the weekend. You should say no to her ridiculous suggestion and save money or be a responsible adult, but you'll say yes, blow more cash than you care to Sunday and feel extremely miserable after consuming so much alcohol on Sunday. Penelope, your sister will chime in randomly. Finally sometime in the afternoon, you'll get an email from the one that always managers to put that dorky smile on your face. Noah will reply, to an email you sent him two days ago or to something you think you sent two days ago. You don't remember, your minds all a flutter because he messaged you. Before you know it, after a day of replying to emails and pushing paper, it's time to go home. Pack up, wish everyone a pleasant evening. Use the word pleasant too--it's more work appropriate. Get to your car as quickly as possible and drive home. Grab the mail from the mailbox. Valpak, wonderful. Something the mailman put there so you can throw it out. Go through it as you enter your apartment. You'll be greeted by the cat followed by Eric saying a sweet hello from behind his computer monitor. The reflection of his monitor in his glasses makes him look like a cyborg. You know he hasn't done a damn thing but play Starcraft, World of Warcraft, Minecraft, whatever the latest Craft he's into since he's gotten home--a good two hours before you . Hide your disappointment at having to figure out dinner once again. Pet the cat, tell her she's the sweetest thing on the planet. Sigh at the messiness of your apartment and wonder how your parents--yes, the waitress and the janitor--were better at keeping things together than you, a college educated white collar worker with no children will ever be. Change out of your work clothes as soon as possible. Trade the no personality khakis and white button down shirt for a pair of sweats and your college hoodie. Throw together dinner. It'll be some type of meat, starch and veggie combination. Nine times out of ten it's chicken, tonight though, it's pork with a side of rice and beans. No veggies, the beans and rice will suffice. Serve Eric dinner, he'll love it. He'll say something like, "This is delicious," or "You should make this more often." Smile sweetly and accept his compliment. You'll both finish eating within minutes. Aside from his compliment, you won't say another word to each other. Two cogs sitting in front of the television, stuffing food into their faces. What have the two of you become? You were so in sync once, you were both so fit. You'll remember when you used to be attracted to one another, when you actually felt something for each other---something more than just a level of comfort. Sure you love him, but are you in love with him anymore? Funny how a preposition can make such a difference. You can't be the only one that feels this way, right? Clean up after dinner, leave the dishes in the sink. You really don't feel like cleaning and there's always tomorrow anyway.
If it’s a good day, you’ll be able to accomplish all four without making anyone in your office suspicious of your lack of work productivity. Check your email frequently, it's your only connection to the outside world. Your boyfriend, Eric, the one you live with, the one you’ve been for what feels like forever, the one your grandmother has been begging you to marry already so you can give her more great grandchildren, emails you frequently either with silly links or other random finds from the internet. It's nice to know you're not the only non productive one at work. Don't question if being in contact with each other is a bad thing, his emails provide you with entertainment that make the day go from torturous to almost bearable. Abby, your best friend will email you sporadically, she commiserates with you on the horrors of working a nine to five and starts planning the weekend. You should say no to her ridiculous suggestion and save money or be a responsible adult, but you'll say yes, blow more cash than you care to Sunday and feel extremely miserable after consuming so much alcohol on Sunday. Penelope, your sister will chime in randomly. Finally sometime in the afternoon, you'll get an email from the one that always managers to put that dorky smile on your face. Noah will reply, to an email you sent him two days ago or to something you think you sent two days ago. You don't remember, your minds all a flutter because he messaged you. Before you know it, after a day of replying to emails and pushing paper, it's time to go home. Pack up, wish everyone a pleasant evening. Use the word pleasant too--it's more work appropriate. Get to your car as quickly as possible and drive home. Grab the mail from the mailbox. Valpak, wonderful. Something the mailman put there so you can throw it out. Go through it as you enter your apartment. You'll be greeted by the cat followed by Eric saying a sweet hello from behind his computer monitor. The reflection of his monitor in his glasses makes him look like a cyborg. You know he hasn't done a damn thing but play Starcraft, World of Warcraft, Minecraft, whatever the latest Craft he's into since he's gotten home--a good two hours before you . Hide your disappointment at having to figure out dinner once again. Pet the cat, tell her she's the sweetest thing on the planet. Sigh at the messiness of your apartment and wonder how your parents--yes, the waitress and the janitor--were better at keeping things together than you, a college educated white collar worker with no children will ever be. Change out of your work clothes as soon as possible. Trade the no personality khakis and white button down shirt for a pair of sweats and your college hoodie. Throw together dinner. It'll be some type of meat, starch and veggie combination. Nine times out of ten it's chicken, tonight though, it's pork with a side of rice and beans. No veggies, the beans and rice will suffice. Serve Eric dinner, he'll love it. He'll say something like, "This is delicious," or "You should make this more often." Smile sweetly and accept his compliment. You'll both finish eating within minutes. Aside from his compliment, you won't say another word to each other. Two cogs sitting in front of the television, stuffing food into their faces. What have the two of you become? You were so in sync once, you were both so fit. You'll remember when you used to be attracted to one another, when you actually felt something for each other---something more than just a level of comfort. Sure you love him, but are you in love with him anymore? Funny how a preposition can make such a difference. You can't be the only one that feels this way, right? Clean up after dinner, leave the dishes in the sink. You really don't feel like cleaning and there's always tomorrow anyway.
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nice
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