The Job

Concrete encases me in this tomb of regret and bitterness. The pungent aroma of the stale and malodorous air fills my nostrils and lungs while I listlessly gaze into the empty corridors of the hospital.

Hollow as the words of a politician, shallow as a celebutante, the Leaders are not the Best. They are not even Leaders. One will certainly not Hail them as Champions in their field.

The peons move to and fro--except for those who move not a foot--working as bees do in a hive. Mindless, monotonous, tedious, repetitious...the work is a marathon to the soul as a Dostoyevsky novel is to the mind.

When will it end? It seems destined that I shall forever be wearing the Burgundy and Yellow Letter.

The hours and days blend into a unrecognizable blob where I lose all sense of time. Each day brings the same dull, enervating tasks that drowns my spirit in the ocean of mediocrity that is my job. I gasp for air in these suffocating seas, struggling to stay afloat with all the might I can conjure up.

No lover waiting for his amore at the train station is as eager as I am when the clock strikes 10:30 on Friday. Happiness has arrived! I am to depart this place for a splendid two day respite from this abattoir of hope and dreams.

Though it only lasts for an all too brief time, the bliss of being away from the dungeon is fully felt by I. Happiness is the unchallenged champion of my weekends.

Come Monday, the misery becomes King again. But that is two days off.

Meanwhile, I will gleefully imbibe drink and merriment in celebration of a work week survived. The days are short, but the good times are long.

A smile returns to the face, joy comes again to the heart, and contentment is restored to the spirit.Such ephemeral ecstasy these weekends are.