Suits With Strings Attached

I get a lot of work done from the toilet seat. A quick wipe down of some drone’s piss and my porcelain throne is ready to receive my warm cheeks. Two friends reunited again. I read ebooks. I close my eyes and doze. I try to remember.

I think about what’s at work here and see that it’s the lights that do the job. The work of a million suns to ensure you stagger home with a love for emotional and physical exhaustion. Marching to someone else’s drumbeat is mighty tiring on the heart and body and it’s all exposed by pure white light.

This is my well earned reprieve from suffering Monday to Friday. That inspires a lot of anger in me and I want to remember it and nurture it and put it into writing so I can feel it later on. Another pair of old friends. But it has a pesky habit of dissipating quickly. The capacity of people to forget is what makes all this possible.

They become exasperated and then PUFF! they forget. Elephants NEVER forget. It wants to dominate every area of your life, not just the hours you spend there, and they let it happen. I didn’t want to go to the senior management circle jerk and would you just look at their faces! The poachers sign on and any dissenters must be well hung and drawn out into the open and slaughtered. Their expectant faces are what make me remember.

I saw a shop window this morning with suits with strings attached. Is there someone else out there? As in literally with strings attached like a puppet. And yet they all stroll in and buy! buy! buy!

It’s a uniform and it’s important and it’s invisible. “If the children wear their own clothes then some of them will feel left out.” There are rips in mine but I’ve stopped caring. Why care? Personal pride is somewhat limited when you’re instructed to teach the incompetents who will take your job. “I’m ready! Oh, and no lube please, I’m British.”

I’m feeling better now. I flush and the anger subsides. I don’t think I have anything left to remember.

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