Ever had a day that seams to go for every, a of internal dullness?
I spend eight hours a day standing behind a till, staring at a wig wall on the other side of the shop floor Once I have got bored of that - only after ten minuets of the place being open.- I open my sketch book and start drawing. I’m now in to book number eight. I’ve gone form taking two and a half weeks to complete one to one week.
Its sole destroying. The dull ache of nothing. The place has become a white noise of hopelessness, of each day.
five out of seven days I get up, go to work stand there smiling like a Barbie doll trying to pretend I give a shit while listening to the customers life story of how they got invited to this fancy dress party.
Its like a endless circle of nothing, with no end in site. No mater what or how hard I try it feels like the world is in a freeze frame with no why of breaking free of the stillness, the deadly silence, to any where that is better then the place in which the daily routine would even bore death him self if he were to trade places for a day.
Where even the trees, who’s roots have taken hold with in the market wall, across from us has given up and died.
For forty hours a week my mind slowly weakens losing all interest in anything making the rich richer. I go home and sit watch a moving pitcher on a screen, not taking in what is happening. Just watching the life’s of those how do not really exists.
I wonder if that is the same for my own life, is this just the an existence for the entertainment of others? If this is then can some one please re-write my part.
©2014 sarah patel
Alandofconfusion
I spend eight hours a day standing behind a till, staring at a wig wall on the other side of the shop floor Once I have got bored of that - only after ten minuets of the place being open.- I open my sketch book and start drawing. I’m now in to book number eight. I’ve gone form taking two and a half weeks to complete one to one week.
Its sole destroying. The dull ache of nothing. The place has become a white noise of hopelessness, of each day.
five out of seven days I get up, go to work stand there smiling like a Barbie doll trying to pretend I give a shit while listening to the customers life story of how they got invited to this fancy dress party.
Its like a endless circle of nothing, with no end in site. No mater what or how hard I try it feels like the world is in a freeze frame with no why of breaking free of the stillness, the deadly silence, to any where that is better then the place in which the daily routine would even bore death him self if he were to trade places for a day.
Where even the trees, who’s roots have taken hold with in the market wall, across from us has given up and died.
For forty hours a week my mind slowly weakens losing all interest in anything making the rich richer. I go home and sit watch a moving pitcher on a screen, not taking in what is happening. Just watching the life’s of those how do not really exists.
I wonder if that is the same for my own life, is this just the an existence for the entertainment of others? If this is then can some one please re-write my part.
©2014 sarah patel
Alandofconfusion
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