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The Hogs of Entropy 0693
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #693
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "I Love A Charade"
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
888 888 888 888 888 " by Grlfrmars
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 6/18/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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It's time my delusions die and I start to live a real life. That's
what I affirm each morning when I wake up. I start each day with the hope
that I will not let fantasy take over my mind, that I will not spend the
day in a private reverie. I also hope that I won't give in like I did the
day before.
It's difficult, you know, to carry on while constantly daydreaming.
It has taken away from my performance at work, my studies, my personal
relationships. It's tough to carry on a conversation with someone who is
only paying attention to you in order to give you a part in his or her
internal play, don't you think? Christ, do you know how many times I've
done that? I've now lost all my friends but my dog Rosie, but even she is
no longer willing to play. Seems my overactive imagination has cost me my
life.
My day begins: I wake at 6:30 AM, shower, dress, walk Rosie, and
head out the door. I make the bus just in time, and prepare myself for the
long, boring ride to work. While sitting in my cramped seat, I hear a
voice say, "Your breakfast, ma'am," and I immediately try to block it out.
It's time to concentrate on work now, work. I get to the office, where my
boss has laid out a three-foot-high pile of folders on my desk, folders
that I must file. "Must be the tedious work that fosters my overactive
imagination," I muse. Filing can really let your mind wander.
I start to see myself waking up in a large room, decorated completely
in white, with floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall. The light streaming
into the room is quite a contrast to the murky, dismal atmosphere I
encountered today waiting for the bus. I am sitting up in a large brass
bed with lovely white cotton bedding. Just then, a shout from my boss
startles me, and I return to my filing. This job is going to kill me some
day!
Janeen, one of my coworkers, pops her head into my office and asks
whether I'd like to join her for lunch. Janeen's a nice enough girl, a tad
on the dull side, but every day I find myself sitting across from her at
the West Side Diner in complete silence. This day was no exception. As
our waitress went on about the daily specials and oh, you have to try the
peach cobbler, I once again felt the warm sunlight on my face and awoke in
the airy room of my earlier daydream. I got up an examined my
surroundings, which included a large bathroom with a free-standing bathtub,
everything gleaming white. I turned around and examined myself in the
full-length mirror. My God, this is what I could look like if I weren't
constantly filing! My eyes were clear and twinkling, my hands free of
calluses and papercuts. As I was admiring my newfound self, a rap on the
shoulder from our waitress let me know it was my turn to order. Throughout
the silent lunch, I fought to keep from slipping into my dream.
Janeen and I returned to the office a few minutes late, much to the
chagrin of our boss. For some reason, he just called Janeen into his
office. I found another large stack of files on my desk again, will it
never end? It did end, five hours of struggling to concentrate later.
When I finally finished, I went to my boss' office to announce my departure
for the day. When I got to his office, he was sitting at his desk, and
across from him was Janeen. They beckoned for me to sit down.
"Rafaella," he began," I've noticed that you haven't really been
paying attention to your work. Why, I find you sitting at your desk like a
zombie, shoving folders into any drawer you like. That is unacceptable for
this firm, Rafaella. Unacceptable. Janeen here tells me that you are
often in a catatonic, dreamlike state during your lunches, and you come out
of it all disoriented. Rafaella, I think I'm going to have to let you go.
Your shoddy work has cost this firm too much already."
See? Did I tell you my daydreaming was troublesome? As I packed up
my clutt ered desk, I was privy to a glorious sunset, viewed from the
balcony outside my immaculate white bedroom. As I sipped my glass of wine,
my chambermaids readied my bed for the evening. "Ah, the bumbling
bourgeois fantasy, one of my favorites," I sighed to myself. "Better go
to sleep early," I say to myself as I slip into my designer nightgown and
crawl into my luxurious brass bed, "I have to find a new job tomorrow."
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #693 - WRITTEN BY: GRLFRMARS - 6/18/99 ]
