Pot of Petunias

I tried writing but since today’s work day is the only thing standing between me and glorious, magnificent freedom, it just wasn’t happening. I started with some free-writing and wrote a character, but all she did was stare at her food and consider the nutritional facts of said food. Sometimes, it is better to just walk away and come back later. So now, blogging is my chosen method of procrastination, (I’ve already gone through my reader and every single social networking site I have an account with.) ¬†Unfortunately, that means I didn’t come here with a plan, or any particular subject about which I wanted to write, so I’m really just free-wheeling it.

This may be where we're headed...

If any of you have the slightest inkling of how my mind works, you know how potentially dangerous this could be. It’s like making the jump to hyperspace without the proper coordinates, or without a gate, or engaging the Infinite Improbability Drive without any probability settings.

Or at least, in normal circumstances, that would be the case. Now, in an office, in which there is rarely anything new happening – well, it’s fairly difficult to get distracted by absolute nothing. Therein lies the rub! I have a stable, fairly well-paying job, where not much is expected of me and I can leave work at the office and have evenings entirely free, which does give me sufficient time to write (whether I use it wisely or not). But during the day, everyday….

The other morning, I tossed something in my trash, and as I glanced over to sight the trajectory, I noticed that my trash had the same things in it that it had had yesterday. Obviously the cleaning people hadn’t deigned to empty my trash – or so I thought. After a few seconds, I realized it wasn’t exactly the same trash. In fact, it was the trash I had thrown in there earlier the same day, it just looked the same, because everyday I throw away EXACTLY THE SAME THINGS. Not even my trash deviates from the routine of everyday.

again... and again... and again... and again...

I don’t mean to complain, and if I hadn’t jumped into this post without a plan, we mightn’t have been in this pot of petunias, but it’s something that sits at the back of my head all day while I sit at my ergonomically arranged desk and stare at my computer screen. And more importantly, the concept that has grown with it: I couldn’t do this for a lifetime. And, beyond that, I don’t understand people who can. It’s not the sitting still, in a quiet office, (though I, the eternal spaz, find that difficult as well and relish in my daily mail runs and 2-minute walks to the FedEx box). It’s the complete segregation of life and work. I think I’m just not disciplined enough to sit down for 8 hours a day doing something that has nothing to do with what I like doing. I may be here for a year, but staying here longer than that – it’s slightly terrifying.

You know, it’s difficult for me to understand working at a job you hate for the rest of your life, but I suppose that I’m lucky I have the luxury of choosing. If I were to decide that I couldn’t take this any more and would rather get paid minimum wage to work in a bookstore, I could probably still support myself. Though I wouldn’t be going on big schmancy trips up to the Pacific Northwest. Maybe in another ten years, I’ll feel differently. And then again, maybe I’ll still be just as spastic and constantly looking for change and relishing in instability. In the meanwhile, I can sympathize with the petunias, and be happy that I’m not having quite so tough a time of it.

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