Bordom.
I suckle at your milky teat.
You fill me with apathy.
The monotony of repetition,
like drowning in a warm potato and leek soup.
I feel a pressure in my nether regions,
the process of reliving my bladder and making yet another cup of tea,
cyclical in nature.
Still, taking time when I am not jacked into the machine.
cracking some skulls
My fellow inmates of the corporate telephonic zoo.
We are a unique and special collection of individuals, brought together by a common bond of employment.
For not the necessity of capital it is unlikely we would mix within the same circles.
A non-intersecting Venn diagram.
We are a deformed and mutated version of the Breakfast Club.
like the sand
My time is measured in a finite way,
a rate of interviews I must perform to,
a target per hour I strive towards.
A percentage variation informs me of my failure or victory over the target. It slowly winds down as my respondents get few and far between.
Like a desert or a barren nun.
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