The Grey Area

The work, it is unending. It is also mislabeled. There is very little actual "work." As I described in my last post, I am charged with double- or triple-clicking things in a computer program, for seven hours a day. It is very similar to my first real job in that the task is easily understood, endlessly repeating, and I will no doubt master it within two weeks.

Unending, and uninteresting. My coworkers, however, seem smart and competent. We will see how long that illusion lasts.

I have no other news at this time. I have not yet worked out a good system for updating my blog, reading others blogs, and thinking creative, original thoughts. The job seems to preclude thinking in its higher forms. While the activity itself is not intellectually taxing, the constantness precludes any time at all for losing oneself in a daydream, weird fantasy, or thinking up a clever haiku about the weather:

slush, sleet, freezing rain
my hometown's "wintery mix"
southerners' "torture"

Alas, there is work enough that I am not bored, and not enough work that I am at all stimulated. The limbo of computerized accounting. The gap between sunset and twilight and night when you can't tell see colors, when the sky blends so totally into the horizon you swear the earth doesn't end, just overlaps. The grey area. Stasis. I will no longer work. I'll muddle.


It's going to be weird.