Still life

What the hell is going on? It's like you make a decision about
something, without really basing it on anything except your own
scattered thoughts and emotions, and then suddenly, bam, everything
changes and you're sitting up five floors, scanning the internet for
something vaguely interesting to look at, a quiet office hum blocking
your ears, half conversations piping along the surface. Did I really
ask for this? Can I trust my own memories of it? I recall things like a
conversation in which I get excited at the prospect of working 9 to 5,
sitting by a big window five floors up. But was I really excited? Or
just playing along for the cameras? Well, anyway, I'm here now. The
printer's whirring. Somehow I can feel it in my back. Sitting on this
chair all day, it's just not natural. No matter how comfortable they
make them, after seven hours it's like sitting folded up inside a box.
Except it's not dark. That's thanks to the window. And the lights,
which are always on, even when it's sunny.


Ah, a cup of yogi tea arrives on my desk. Thanks, I say. I
even get a smile from the young receptionist, her face carefully
made-up, held gently, delicately in place. 'Born to be a Princess' it
says on her t-shirt, written in sparkly red across her breasts. She's
gone again. Somebody else says goodbye, but not to me. Quiet. Think
I'll check my emails. No, nothing. What about my hotmail? No, nothing
there either. Well, that's it then, nothing more to say. Can't even
write that much about nothing, without getting bored. Nothing.



And then it hits me, from somewhere. A gap in the clouds, or
something. I sit back, realising, with a strange, calming clarity, that
I'm alive. That the most incredible force on earth, perhaps in the
universe, is running through me, filling my lungs. Everything that has
ever happened, ever, is meaningless compared to this moment, sitting
here. Now.


The printer whuzes again. Like the tired breath of an old
man, and then nothing. Dead. Gone. The yogi tea tastes good. Think I'll
check my emails. No, still nothing. Never mind, nearly time to go home.
That'll be good. Go for a run, get myself fit. Cook up some nice
healthy food, get an early night. Feet shuffle quietly past my desk. I
look up. Smile, uncommitted. Not sure what it means. Hi, nice day? No,
I'm not doing anything either. What the hell is going
on?


The sky moves on outside the window.