Sunday evening, roast beef and gravy. After-dinner smoke and a cigarette, wish I could have a coffee, short, strong, sweet, black. Not if I want to sleep, work tomorrow, up at 5am.Work tomorrow is like having just had two days off from trying to swim the English Channel…and now its time to strip down, grease up and dive back into that black water, cold as a witch’s left tit, thin oily film. Swimming becomes secondary to not drowning in meetings and forms and phone calls and messages and memos and questions and complaints. Somehow, despite this tide of mediocre-half-done-bullshit sucking me down, I manage to make a factory make things. And the young guy’s fiancé got sick and had to go back to Canada, and the other one is saving for a car and wants overtime. One not much older is having a baby and needs time off and the old guy wants a day off to take the Missus to the bagpipe tattoo down in Sydney and the French guy’s worried about losing his job and he should be but its not his fault and I can’t say fuck-all because it might not happen…
And it all starts at 6am and runs all day…and all night too if I have coffee before bed.
1 comment:
The rat race can be trying, can't it?! Maybe you could try decaf. That might be a swear word though. There are tapes, with the sounds of nature, that are soothing, and relaxing. That would go good with a smoke and coffee.
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