Ruminations of a Working Man, Pt. V

Another cup… Another significantly poor cup of black coffee. No sense in throwing sugar on top of a pile of feces and pretending it’s a biscuit, eh? No sense in going to work and pretending it’s a playground, either. Honestly, that’s the first time I’ve compared work to poop, though I can say with some certainty it won’t be the last.

Okay, so it’s really not that bad. When I started this blog, I hated working. I wrote on here simply to get my mind out of the office for a few minutes. Like anything that’s enjoyable, it went from a few minutes to a couple hours, and now it’s become habit for me to ramble on here every day for as long as it takes for me to get a thought out. Honestly, it has saved my sanity. I eat lunch outside every day, rain or shine (it hardly ever rains in AZ anyways), no matter how hot it is (the cold doesn’t bother me, and it doesn’t, by definition of the word, ever get cold in AZ), and I write on this blog. Between the separation of my body from the job and my mind from the job, I stay relatively content. The fact that a few of you humor me by liking and commenting on my posts is remarkable to me.

I used to write only when I was inspired, even with negative inspiration. Truth be told, it’s hard to be inspired when you sit inside of a gray cubicle. No, that’s not an exaggeration. My cubicle walls are gray.

So I’ve taken to responding to one-word daily prompts, and that fuels at least one post per day, though I usually take the weekends off because I’m too busy for my own good and can’t find time to do this, or don’t feel like it because I am not here to put out more useless drivel. I am here to hone my writing skills, especially during the particularly dry seasons (of which there are many), to find inspiration amidst the woefully ordinary, and to give my heart a little shock so it doesn’t go out on me.

I just read an article on what makes the soul die. I swear the writer of the article is in my office, noting my every move, because I am a textbook example of living out the process of killing a soul. He must work in a different section of the office, though, because he clearly hasn’t discovered that my secret to keeping my soul lies within this URL.

I never wanted to work anywhere for the money. I now have a job that, to me, is only for the money. I never thought I’d be this opposed to a cubicle, but I am. I very well may be making moves to get out of this place, but it’s a slow process, and I’m a much more patient person now than I’ve ever been before. I’m willing to wait and make sure it’s exactly what I’m looking for. No sense in going from one bad situation to another.

And why am I telling you all of this? Because if even one person gets all the way to these lines and is still reading, they typically either sympathize with how I feel and need to know they’re not alone, or they are simply encouraged that a dying soul can think with its heart. At 24 years old, I am ashamed to admit I have a dying soul, but I’m doing all I can to jump-start it back to life. The most honest truth in this whole post: It is YOU that helps me jump-start daily. It is the community of semi-like-minded writers that keeps me coming back for more. If I can reach even one person and be encouraging to them, then I’ve done my job and become an integral part of this community.

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Stories From Honduras

Lena Kvigne // Missionary

The Wandering Poet

Footsteps, Footprints and Words

The Holly Tree Tales

Stories and philosophy, borne out of my own experiences of life on three continents.

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