Chanchi (neato_bandito) wrote,


Why do I find myself typing a few words before deleting them and starting over again? Then again, why am I listening to the Dandy Warhols wail "Sleep" instead of sleeping myself? Biting my nails and tonguing the slivers off the edge of my lips into oblivion.

I have spoken to thousands of people over the past year. Faceless voices ranging from simple update requests to full blown schizophrenic meltdowns, probably over some perceived wrong pertaining to an aquarium sale and an overworked manager who was too depleted to lay the courtesy service on thick enough. Meaningless situations like this occasionally haunt my dreams. They start dim, like neon light seeping through several layers of black gauze....and then, fade away.

And that godawful Tibetan bell, desecrated in the name of productivity, quantity, the trusty ol' statistic VPs go ga-ga for. Useless. I should be insulted at how ridiculously Pavlovian it is - yes, as in the salivating dog. Ruff ruff. Seriously this aural addition to their "arsenal" has only accomplished permanently sautering off any remaining neural pathways associating this chime with peace or groundedness.

Despite these complaints - among others I don't care to re-examine in any more detail than I am guilty for already - good for me. Passive and anxious by nature, this job calls for my mandatory use and development of the former's qualitative counterparts. I do (did?) not naturally enjoy on-the-spot problem solving, not having advance notice, skipping rehearsal or research time. Who knew developing a mindset receptive to improv could be slightly exhilarating, occasionally fun - in spite of once flash freezing fear?

There are lots of cynical observations that could snuff that previous paragraph with so little effort. What keeps me going is that I refuse to let it completely crush that notion. On the contrary, I uproot weeds that threaten suffocation and encircle it at the center of my will, hoping enough sunlight and patience will serve up strength and wisdom in the end. I will allow the big picture to unfold around me and maintain integrity, my voice. Even within a cubicle cocoon of blurry, fraying gray.
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