Yesterday I woke up with a numbness, and it wasn't the result of poor circulation to my extremities as usually befalls my lanky, awkwardly-sprawled sleeping self. It was that emotional numbness you read about in Dilbert comics and romance novels when you realize you are awakening once again into yet another rerun of that tiresome routine. The day before I had worked 9-5, spending numerous hours obsessively checking my e-mail and blog feeds for something (please, God, give me something) to serve as a temporary distraction. I don't know what I hope to find on the Internet that will breathe new life into my work day, but I am determined that it is there.
That was the day before. And it was the day I could expect to have again. And again. And again. Since I was young, I have been terrified of what was coming, and now it is here: The Daily Grind.
I like routine (enough). I like working. I like libraries. What's going wrong?
I refuse to be bored. I'm a bright, optimistic, and creative young professional. I won't become of those people. You know who I mean. The people that take the rat race at a half-assed jog, not even noticing that they're running down the same street over and over but can't identify a single restaurant, nightclub, or performance space on the entire block. The masses of glassy-eyed, jaded, rank-and-file zombies. The just-trying-to-make-a-living dead.
Do I need a more stimulating job? Because I'm working on that. I believe that one's after-work activities can provide enough challenge and stimulation that the work day boredom is excusable, but mine need some serious spicing up. BAM!
Maybe it's that my general attitude towards life has slowly shifted, and it needs some rewriting. Whatever it is, I'm going to make like a scared, trashy figure skater and beat it down to the ground.
To end with another bad pun, this is an open and shut case of the Mondays.
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