I'm not meant for office work. This is clear. It's always been clear. I can't do office small talk. I don't want to. I don't like it. But at least it's better than customer service. And at least I have the whole first floor to myself. No cubicles by my 'secretary' desk. I am not a secretary.
The UPS guy knows my name. He wears UPS shorts. The Fed-Ex guys always get the wrong building.
Invoice, file, repeat.
I'm an ex-expatriot not meant for the same things over and over. Never liked my job before, but at least I had a challenge. At least I had something I could learn. Again it's over and over.
I'm reverting back, far back into my own mind, where no one can find me. Oh, hey, peppermint puffs. I hope they're not stale from last time I was here.
A peppermint puff haiku:
Oh, peppermint puffs
Wonderful, lovely and true
My peppermint puffs
Peppermint puffs don't have magical healing powers, and they won't help me study, as much as I wish they would. But they're yummy, so I won't hold it against them.
I'll go to school again. Maybe find an actual career this time. But I have to run. And I can't run. And I got a terrible pain in my hip when I try to run. I need to run because I need this job. I hate teaching, but so far it's the only thing that's gotten me out.
I need out. I need real. Or I'll forget that real is good, and stay in this hole forever...
... but at least I'll have peppermint puffs.
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