Disjointed

I realize I post a lot about my job, so I'm going to try to come up with some different subject matters to attend to in the coming week

For the last few days, when I have some "downtown" here at the office [laughable], I've been asked to input addresses from fliers that have been "returned to sender" along with the reason why and any possible new address the post office may have on file attached by way of a yellow address label. The front of the fliers boast "an overview for non-injectors". There are also an assortment of artistically gritty syringes and a few bullseyes with the words "Exploring the Advantages of Botulinum Toxin Therapy" across the top in white letters. Each name and subsequent address I submit to the list allows for my brain to stroke off or explore thoughts of how much I would love to be working anywhere else. Somewhere with a better challenge than "can I beat the number of return mail I can input within a set amount of time?" In a cube, possibly, not surrounded by four gents, well into their thirties, who are on the phones with doctors or pharmaceutical reps discussing their registration for speaker training or classes that will earn them CME credit. They cocoon me in what some might consider white noise [gassy white noise] or enough background to allow them to focus on the tasks that are given to them. For me, it's not like that at all. I'm unable to drown out the sounds around me. Can't plug headphones in to create a tempo.

Last night I spoke with my dad about convention. About the reports given, the newsreel and some of the consultation centering around the decay of the society around us; the first two topics had us smiling, the latter turned brows into a concerned furrow. I lingered back onto work, and told him that I had had enough. Crossing my arms, looking off into my mother's closet and shifting my weight from one foot to another. That I was interested in having a conversation with Ken Bowers or Bob Henderson about what I'm doing with myself, what I could be doing and asking them for any advice or ideas or networking for a man who's mind has become ADD because of the lack of stimulation in the workplace and a growing fear that my spirit may be effected as well.

The conversation around me turns to the Bulls' victory last night and into the small talk of people who don't know anything substantial about each other. Who can't trust or love those around them because they simply don't have that model or have never been in that situation or thought about love as being a way for groups/teams in the office to work effectively together, to stimulate consultation. It's incredible to note just how much I was able to glean from the time I spent running around the House of Worship with bottles of water to restock or a van to pack up. Sounds silly, but hearing that after a very passionate speech about racism all the delegates cried and hugged each other, whether they knew anything about each other or not.

I'm rambling out of frustration and a lack of anything to do here. Hope you all are well! You all smell terrible. Especially all of you.

Afternote: Next week, appointment with the incomperable Ken Bowers.