Hehehe... it's FLASH FICTION FRIDAY!

Here is my entry for today :
Work stinks. I have to get up every morning in enough time to struggle to the depths of my kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. The coffee will do the work that the alarm clock started, which is wake me up. I will stand drumming my fingers against the laminated countertop waiting until the dark liquid is ready to be enchanted by the magic of cream and sugar, which then passes into my system as I swallow gratefully. The fact that I do this for work has not occurred to my sleep-numbed mind yet.

Once enough coffee has been ingested to get the rest of the day going, I have to locate clothes. Not just any clothes, but decent, matching, office-type clothes, not holey or revealing, not stained, but presentable. I have to put on a face for work. The image of what work really is has begun to send sharp, shooting pains into my head.

I shower. Then, as I stand in front of the vanity mirror, I have to start the routine of decisions. Do I want to put on make-up? Why? Who is going to care? Yes, make-up is required for work. Work stinks.

I make up my face, don my clothes and try to tackle the rest of the chores that go along with this work thing, including finding keys, locate mail to go out, feed the dog. At least as I am walking to my car I get a few moments peace, as I look at the flowers blooming and the brilliant, blue sky overhead.

Then, it is into the car, and propel myself through a multitude of faceless, nameless other beings in other cars all heading out to do this same thing. Work.

Once I arrive, it is like all that has gone before does not matter. No one cares that I endured a jangling alarm clock, burning liquids, expensive face adornment, stress and dangers on the highway in order to be here.

I hardly see anyone in the place I call work. No one else has arrived yet. I want to return through the maze of roads, back across my lawn, back into my house. I want to take off the makeup, get back into my sleepwear and go back to bed.

But I won’t do it. I will stay and I will do a job that will net me a check. I will struggle and strive all the days of my life from this one to the last one, doing something that is supposed to be gratifying to me as a human. And I will enjoy receiving the pay. I will take it with care to the bank and trust them to keep it for me.

That’s why work stinks. It is too much doing and too much trusting. It is easier to sleep, easier to say no and turn off the alarm clock.

But I can’t stop myself. Work stinks.