I’ve heard that we are given June roses for the December of our lives (extreme liberties taken with the referenced quote) - but, if you can’t even get outside to see the roses bloom, cause you’re sitting in a cubicle with poor lighting with little to no sound barriers, really the beauty of the Schizanthus pinnatus, or the radiance of the Centaurea cyanus and the intensity of the Tithoria rotundifolia, is not going to help in the winter, let alone get me through the next 90 minutes.
As I look back on my life I feel that there is someone, somewhere that owes me an apology. That’s right an apology. An apology for great summers lived with carefree abandon. Months of thoughtless bliss not marred with the black spot of production measures. Years lived with hope - buoyed up by the knowledge that there were at least 90 days of happiness to be savored.
The expectation was set, the pattern established, the freedoms enjoyed. As the responsibilities of adulthood come crashing down I am left to wonder, who is to blame! Where do I direct the rage that lies within my heart! The open road calls my name, yet I must not yield to its enticements. I am left a broken shell, yearning for the adventures of summer to fill the vacation void that gapes in my soul. Too dramatic?! Perhaps. But to convey the pain of this cubicle suburbia requires that I lay bare my misery.
I am so bored.
Summer vacation - you didn't do right by me
As they say in the song...you done me wrong.
This is the reason I'm fairly certain I will never have a "real" job. :-)
ReplyDelete