Office Space

Its a sunny Tuesday morning, as I sit in my lonely, dank, office. The sun is splintering through the wrangled blinds and music fills the dusty air....what really is this place I call work? The Storm Trooper coyly looks away, and the drywall laughs at me with its lack of colour and life. My pens are hanging onto their last breathe and know that sooner than later, they will met their end... in the garbage can, along with the other refuse, no longer wanted or needed. My fax machine blinks at me, asking why haven't I fixed him, why haven't I given him any attention... much needed attention... I have no answer for him. The post-it notes are all curling in at the edges, and the bursts of colour my eye periodically finds has nothing on the drab, white, grey and dirt that has taken over fort. My LG no longer exclaims that "Life's Good, but rather " Life is Good Elsewhere" and " There is no Life left in me". The single florescent light that rests above my head, clinging to the stained and troublesome ceiling, forces out an awkward, unwelcoming yellow light. The floor is bare cement, grey and cold, covered in a permanent layer of dirt. My drowning cactus is the only other life form, besides, myself of course, and the bugs that creep along the walls, and the mold that surely is growing somewhere in the nooks and crannies of this supposed office. The digital clock in the bottom of my computer screen slowing ticks along, teasing me, with every minute closer, but still hours away from quitting time. The electrical cords are tangled up among themselves and the various dust bunnies that hop along... always hopping along, proving impossible to exterminate. Pin holes pepper the dirty, lack lustre walls, which seem to scream in desperation " Love me, decorate me, please, I'm dying here". Aren't we all? The windows do not open, their is no fan, no air circulation. There is a pumping sound in the near distance; there is water in the vents, making the air humid and sticky- if only I was in an actual tropical destination, then I wouldn't mind. My desk chair has survived decades, and has arrived from the 80's to give me back-aches and frustration; its wheels are in their last trows of life, and debris of all kinds clings to its underneath, its sides, its everywhere. The screech of the telephone wakes me from a daze brought on by sheer boredom and the occasional thought of " how does a place such as this still exists, in this day and age...?" Yet, I am never woken from slumber to find it only a dream, instead I drag myself back, day in and out, flick on the grungy switch, and watch the light flicker on. I begrudging sit myself down on the stained and worn yellow wheelie chair, which somehow managed to escape its fate of necessary destruction and found its way, safely, to my office. I turn on my Life's not Good computer screen, which slowly blinks its way back to life... well, a sort of life. I check the emails, to find either nothing, or the same types of things I found the day before. And so starts my day.