EXTRA HOURS

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"Amber, could you please ask about the interview? I'm suffering here. Thanks okay! Bye!"
My head is about to explode after listening to someone's lecture on hard work and extra hours at work. I really want to live in comfort, but it clearly comes at a price. And I must determine how much I'm willing to pay. The above text message I sent to my cousin in Belgium who works in a fabric factory would hopefully bring back some glimmer of hope. But until then let me pour my self out....

There's still some silence amidst the noise at work. That annoying reluctance of refusing to keep quite.
Talk after talk, time after time, it seems the same chatter rumbles among the banter.
I'm known to be loud but not audible enough. But I guess not having enough greens and browns
must make me louder than normal. They say I must give up my sleep and work on weekends. Well... sleeping isn't the issue, though I must say it comes up somewhere in-between the eight-to-five or sometimes seven. But working with little verve in order to gain experience in a swivel chair for the next three years, doesn't seem to work for me.

Ideas on what course to take flood my mental suburbs everyday. Trying to branch out through personal convictions usually leaves you wrapped up in a bag of plantain chips: dry and flat. Without liquid and without drive, I'm having to decide whether to play the game of kings or work like a slave and still be royalty at the same time.

I'm definitely quitting but I will leave when the applause is loudest. At least that's the plan...

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