jarraddavis
Executive assistant. I wonder if that's where I'll end up, sitting next to the person in charge, squandering away my life in some cubical, filing papers and stapling documents. I don't think I'd be able to look at myself if I spent all those years in an office feeling useless. I know a lot of good people that can say that they've spent their lives serving some business man like that, but I don't want to be one of them. I don't want to wake up 30 years from now and have done nothing but spin my wheels in some administrative wasteland.
Pixelated pixies dancing across my screen in the cool air that presses against my window like a thousand breaths of men, lonely, desperate. They moan and writhe against the panes of their computers, aching for the pixels just out of reach.
Like building silvery and stoney, grey and gleaming. They rise high into the blue, up and beyond. They're boxing us in. Boxing us in. We're stuck inside the structured moment of our lives. Do the dishes, fold the laundry, go to work, sleep. Repeat.