New  »   Gator Country  ·  Pony  ·  Sunshine Jen  ·  Post-Modern Drunkard  ·  Robot Journal
  new?
 
  10.26.2006  
«« past   |   future »»


comments[3]
all comments

post #20
bio: rider
perma-link
10/26/2006
14:58

archives
first post
that week




Previous Posts
What to do with old love letters?
Walt.
Eleven things I used to believe.
Oh Elizabeth.
I borrowed your quasi boyfriend.
Cringeworthy.







My last job blocked happy r. It had one of those filters that blocked any non-approved sites that were accessed too much. I guess I accessed too much.

I changed jobs and moved this month. Or rather, I elected to perform my soulless ankle-biting job at a different desk in DC instead of the south. [contrary to the opinions of some New England friends, DC is not the South. It has Dunkin Donuts and places to buy nice shoes].

Much is the same. I am still a lazy time waster at this job. My chair is the same. My secretary has the same name as my old secretary. But there is a seriousness that is different. The young men around me never smile. Never. Already defeated by the lie of adulthood at 26. When I get off the train in the morning I have to fight the urge to shout "Captains of Industry!" and raise a fist in the air. Such is the relentless surge toward productivity chugging through the opening doors and up the escalators.


When I leave at night the dome of the Capital is at the end of the street to my left. In the cold dark it is the most perfect white I've ever seen—so perfect that I never look during the daytime. At night, I see the very first day of every intern, every staffer, every politician. The immense hopefulness of all those breathless first days piles into a brilliant white heap, gleaming at the end of a grand avenue. I smile in spite myself and for all the lost boys still sitting at their desks.


 
«« past   |   future »»