I’m Just as Lost as I Ever Was

When I think about my relationship with work I’m reminded of all those times I couldn’t believe how bad things had gotten in the workplace, to the point where even the most valued workers were being pushed out to the end of their patience and made to dive into a shark-infested future with only hunger on its mind, and all in an effort to simply lighten the load on those running the ship, while producing treasures that never felt good enough.

Later, having miraculously landed on a deserted island of underemployment, where opportunity fell on my head and gave me mental diarrhea each time I swallowed too much of it, I did what I needed to do in order to survive.

I kept myself hydrated, performed a few regular exercises to keep my joints oiled, and even meditated on my salty tears when most days after work I felt so deeply underrepresented I begged for a sudden and untimely death to give me all its attention, to slither up and fatally bite me in my sleep through my ramshackle tent of hope I’d made from whatever shit washed up.

Now, I’m just as lost as I ever was, and the island of displacement still rumbles underneath me like a reason to blow, only now the views from the shore where my failures erupted out of what kindness I could defiantly unbury, walk sideways, snapping their claws day and night back into the mouth of an unfeeling universe I can’t seem to change the gravity of, but while looking sunnier than they used to,

the blue water bluer, the scavenger birds friendlier than before, or at least it seems that way when they land close as if to pull up a chair and watch a show, but are really just waiting for me to you know damn well what.

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