I'm not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the line, I became lame. Maybe its the mountain of dirty clothes threatening to take over my bedroom. Maybe it's the data entry.
Data entry makes me die inside with greater efficiency than anything I know. The fact that a retarded monkey could do my job isn't even the worst part. I am typing addresses of athletic organizations into a spreadsheet so this company can send them solicitations on ways sports can get even more money. To say nothing of the mind-numbing monotony, the fact that most of the information on the page is out of date, the idea that I am transcribing something that may be of zero actual use is absolutely awful. Because wasting 8 hours of every day doing this sucks. And I thought being a receptionist was bad. And the money just isn't good enough to support this nagging craving for beer.
Sometimes, I can get in the zone. Most of the time, my left wrist just aches, and I look in my little cubicle for something to kill myself with. I think that's why I have tape, but no scissors. Probably happened to the last temp. And blood is so hard to scrub off that cube-foam.
Thank god for iPod. I recharge every other day. And every so often, the shuffle with pop something extra random that makes me laugh out loud, such as Denis Leary's Meat Rant, or anything by the Frantics. But my music is starting to bore me. So send me your music ideas, playlists, what you're listening to.
on the Tube: Elizabethtown (much better the second time around, but not as good as Volver)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment