Time

Work? Optional!

So todays prompt from the lovely folks at WordPress asks the question would you work if money was out of equation.

Well regular readers will know I love my current job and all of my colleagues are an absolute delight to be around for 6 hours every day. If had no monetary reward I’d still want to be with them every second that was available to me. My work is the reason I live. It’s as important to me as my solid grasp of sarcasm.

If money was out of the equation I would still work, for less time and for a vastly different company in a vastly different field. You see I do have quite high standards for myself, I want to do a good job, be the go-to guy. Be trusted to do a excellent job and leave the customer feeling more satisfied than someone who has had a 48hr free pass to a high end brothel. But where I currently work I am not trusted to order so much as tea and biscuits without managerial approval.

It is like being at school. We are treated like kids, some respond in such a way. Some like me dream rather sadistically (and this is the piece that will be quoted on the news when I finally snap) of disembowelling the vast majority of my co-workers with only a paperclip. (It can be done I have blueprints)

Weapon of Choice

Weapon of Choice

In any given year there are approximately 253 working days for me. 1518 hours a year if I work until I’m 65 (I’ll be dead by then) 45 years working that’s 68310 hours in total.

68310 hours surrounded by people who I have nothing in common with other than a shared work place.
68310 hours surrounded by people who know nothing of what I like (nor me of them)
68310 of dancing to someone elses tune.

I’m tempted to leave right now. But it’s the money that keeps me here or rather the need to have a roof over my fair bonce. I would love to throw this away and do something that helps people, makes me feel good too. Use my 68310 hours for good instead of evil. So wordpress if you want to take money out of the equation and pay my bills I’ll gladly accept your offer of work.. I await your confirmation.

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Poem: A Week of Summer

The sun will beam on high,
And time will move on quickly by,
A fleeting glance, Hello, Goodbye,
In my week of summer,

A visitor from a far off place,
With heavenly body and transcendent face,
Company with style and grace,
In my week of summer,

A star that burns bright it quickly fades,
After just that week she’ll fly away,
I hope my angel returns one day,
For more than my week of summer.

Embed from Getty Images

Fiction: 3386 Seconds

Time is relative. For instance it is infinite but also limited, never ending but running out. Simultaneously best and worst ever all across the world. Babies being born whilst one mans time is almost up. In 56 minutes or indeed 3386 seconds, to be more precise, the man everyone knew as Mr Anthony Di Costa would be dead.

That is of course if I did the job properly.

To do something like this you have to be in the correct frame of mind you see. Focused on the outcome at all times otherwise the job ends up half done and it’s really messy. Not an experience I want again. That’s why timing is crucial, even down to the last second. True there are variables to consider, especially in a city of this size. Relatives for example tend to get in the way of a task like this if they are not held up in the Wednesday afternoon traffic on the way back from Target.

Today is a Wednesday. Almost like I planned it.

Method of course is also important. I have learnt this from experience too. You use the wrong tool for the job and you will have lots of explaining to do. A considerable pain as I recall. So today I have prepared a shotgun, with shells big enough to dispose of a bear from 100 feet away. This is not a weapon for second chances. One shot, all over.

I often wonder how I found myself in this situation. I mean here I am in a city full of opportunity. College years now long behind me, but I came out of that with some good grades. A boring but well paid job was just out there waiting for me they said. But here I am.
If I let myself think back to those college days for too long, my mind always wanders. There was a girl, there is always a girl, she lived out on the island with this little dog that always barked like a mad thing whenever I visited her. If she had said “yes” to me on the day I gazed into those beautiful eyes and asked her to be my wife, would I be here, gun in hand? Who knows. I don’t have time to ponder that anymore. My window of opportunity grows smaller.

Gun loaded, ready for the task. That’s how I had to think of it, a task, something to be done, finished. No emotion, that was another mistake from before. I guess you can say I am far from the best man for the job, but options, I suppose, are very thin on the ground.

The time is upon me now. This needs to be done before I back out. Eyes on the prize. C’mon now Anthony. Step into the light, I can do this. Focus, fingers on the trigger, white with pressure and adrenaline. This was the moment, shotgun barrel pointed upwards and pressed hard against my chin and now to embrace the end.

Embed from Getty Images