Adventures In Employment: Fear and Loathing In The Corporate World

From K.L. Hawkins to Z.E.

This morning I was woken up by what sounded like jackbooted Nazi’s stomping around in the overheard apartment. There isn’t enough coffee in the world to prepare one for dealing with the SS before 10 am, otherwise I would have flown up the stairs screaming, “QUIET YOU RAT BASTARDS! I’M A DOCTOR OF JOURNALISM AND IM TRYING TO READ MY TUMBLR FEED IN PEACE!”   

                Sometimes, here at work, I contemplate shoving my fingers into my eye sockets and peeling my face off. Just to have something to do, you know?

Sudoku?  Crunching numbers? Bah! You don’t work in the corporate world long before The Fear starts settling in and then you’ll try everything to wash that stain out of your head. Uppers, downers, grass, mescaline, and a bottle of Patron Silver that’s what you need to get through the day here.

But what can one do? It’s either work this job and maintain a crippling drug addiction or quit and move in to your addict. In the attic I will adapt to the darkness and confined space like one of the fish in the deepest regions of the ocean. I will develop wide luminous eyes and claws for skittering across the floor.  I will find ways to sliver in to crawlspaces and fold in on myself.

                Actually that doesn't sound half bad, compared to huddling in these cubical walls in my tequila stooper , making paper dolls of myself and listening to Russian disco in attempt to look busy should the powers that be choose to stride by.

This is why I found you asking me if I was on any medication “for my head” so amusing. You see, medically speaking  I am mentally sound. No  “-paths”  or “disorders” to added to my diagnosis. That is the frightening part.  It means that I have no excuse for my behavior.

I am a creative mind stuck in an environment with very little stimulation. It is in these moments that I wish that I was insane, because at least hearing voices that aren’t there would break the monotony.  Instead, I feel like my brain is cannibalizing itself due to the lack of any substance.  There is no money in art. No money in the written word, but surely there is something better than this.

I am working on an escape plan. So far I have gotten "escape plan" written down on a white piece of paper, but the rest shall follow soon!