Older, but no wiser

Well, aside from the detail that my kids are getting too old to ask questions in quite such an innocent form…

I sit at a white six-seater tabletop – a sort of communal desk, cheaper and more space-efficient than a traditional desk, and eerily reminiscent of the Battle Control Room in Flash Gordon, only they haven’t welded the screens to our brains yet - and stare at a computer screen, cultivating an outward appearance of busy-ness whilst in reality inside I’m often frozen in paralysis – unable to engage with what I’m supposed to be doing, equally unable - for purely practical reasons - to do anything else; there isn’t anything else.

I listen in silent disbelief at what comes out of the mouths of some of my fellow Golgafrinchans, and wonder… We’re all just children playing a game of make-believe, only, like children, we really believe in the fantasy we’ve created and, also just like children, pretend that we’re really grown-ups.

I pretend the enormity of my decision to commit myself to staying here hasn’t yet swamped me; I’m not really drowning, I’ll soon learn how to swim here. I put from my mind all thoughts of another 3000 working days of this pretence, forcing down the nausea of rising panic at the prospect.

I wonder what happened to hope, and caring, and passion, and drive.

I drink far too much black coffee, simply for the excuse to escape the desk – sorry, table - and fill a few moments with some apparent purpose

I long to become visible; I long for some real human contact; I long for something to believe in, but these were never part of the job description.

That, my children, what I do at the office all day, and when the day is over and I’m finally home, if it’s a good one, I exhale and try and rid my body of a little of the tension before it all builds again the next day. Choose your role models carefully children; look far into their futures before you start to follow in their footsteps.


What’s brought on this bout of blackness? After all, once upon a time people told me I had enthusiasm, energy, optimism; my laughter was mostly light and sincere, without the cruel edge born of cynicism. But another of my colleagues leaves today. That’s four from my immediate area, all a similar age to me, who will never need to take paid employment again. Four people with whom I felt more empathy than anyone else around here.

Why don’t I follow them? What’s the difference between them and me, their circumstances and mine? They were good; they were loyal employees; they kept their noses clean and toed the party line when it mattered. I on the other hand, even though I had no dream, went off in search of one. Maybe I looked in the wrong place; maybe I was looking for the wrong thing; maybe I just gave up too soon. Whatever; I didn’t find a dream so I came back. But by then I’d already screwed my chances of a decent pension and a fat redundancy cheque.

I’ll get over it. Or I hope I will. Tomorrow’s another day.

All the same, this isn’t what I started a blog to write about. If I can’t think of anything else soon, I’ll know it’s time to call it a day.