Cracked lips spew forth words across the tattered conference room. Like so many dry dust motes, the words float toward me. I bat them away in irritation and chase pen and paper dreams.
mess of paper
on the table
three o’clock meeting
I drew a character I like to call BatDogMan, and another character called Verbiage. Verbiage is a monster consisting of the word verbiage, some squiggly lines, some sharp teeth, and those raised up eyes people use when they are drawing snails.
I had an interesting exchange of words today about my evident lack of desire to be at work. Believe me when I say that this shouldn’t be a surprise. I have 30 days of leave available to take per year. My leave total accrues 2.5 of these days per month, and am free to take these days whenever I see fit. For some reason people in leadership positions understand and admit these things, yet get angry when someone does what they have been instructed to do. They all have obsessions with emergencies. For reasons I don’t understand, they think that I should maintain at least 14 of these 30 days per year for emergencies only. It is as if they expect my life to consist only of one hardship after another. If there are any hardships that never dissipate, they would have to be work itself and their constant meddling in my affairs. I take my leave when I want so I can be happy in life. I’d rather not base my existence after some robotic entity which would probably work forever only to be rewarded with some lube and a box in which it would store itself.
I’m home now and I’m happy. My cat is meowing so I’d best go poke her in her belly.