Monday, July 29, 2019

Work is strange

Oh man, work is strange.

But what isn't. Life is strange. It is possible that "strange" is a meaningless, or redundant descriptive, like "very". Anything that's sad is very sad. Everything that's tasty is very tasty. Everything that is purple is very purple.

And everything is strange.

Like work.

No, I don't have a story for you. I just went upstairs to shelve here at my job at the library. There are better jobs than this and there are worse jobs than this. And I'm not sure I really approve of the whole idea of "work", but I haven't found the world to be particularly interested in this. Strange. Very strange.

So here's the story:

I was shelving some books and I was feeling tired. So I went to the windows at the end of the row of the cookbooks. I looked out the window and there were trees, just sitting there. And even though I was on the high second floor of my building, 30 feet from the ground, there were still trees, pine trees, tall enough to just be sitting there, outside, in the Summer. So I looked at them.

And then I wasn't tired anymore.

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