Returning home at five, I’m a prisoner in a wheeled metal furnace. Air steams; my body melts. A fly hums drowsily, fogging my brain with dreams of cold water sizzling on my tongue.
—
For Trifextra. I put this in the present because it is something I am experience everyday. The AC in my car doesn’t work. I hate Summer. I hope you got that. Spring; now that is a season!
My first thought this morning was, ‘How the hell am I gonna make that deadline?’
I still had to print a gazillion pages, amend a million little bits before printing and remember to file everything in the right order before sending off the package at noon.
I made lists on my way to work. I sighed sighs that should not have been half as deep at 08.00. Continue reading
As I write this I am sitting in the office, my office, which I share with two other lovely people, who today are both on leave and I am left here on my own to cope with the barrage of orders and paperwork the immensity of which baffles me in this virtual world.
I cope by whining and whinging. It’s the fight or flight kicking in, only in an office environment you do not really fight-fight, and there is nowhere to fly to. Continue reading
Sandra's scribbles 