SQUARE PEGS.....

I wish I had something witty and rye to write. Some colourful collection of anecdotal whimsy that would make me sound clever and as though I  spend my days living a life full of endless shananagins  and the kind of excitement that would make skydiving sound like a trip to B and M Bargains...but I don't.

Today, I found myself yet again in an office block with those who were either nonplussed  by that which was going on around them or someone who was a manager, facilitating the  ever increasing stress filled atmosphere, by somehow being able to  make it look like they didn't actually agree on anything but did it anyway .
As I slowly get closer to the stage of my working life, that stage where Dave who I used to work with would fall asleep during staff meetings and NOBODY would say a fucking word, I am slowly realising with dread that it might not be as exciting a life as I once dreamed it would be. 

Ah you say  but you only get out what you put in, you know what shut up... just shut the fuck right up before you even go down that path. I haven't spent almost 40 years of my life being excellent at idleness and the knack of doing nothing and still having a rich and rewarding experience from it on a daily basis to be told that old  load. 

Just because we don't show it don't mean we don't think it, it's all in the head.If you have an imagination, moving around and getting career promotions don't really matter..what does matter though is just being left alone. I can't explain if you don't feel this way, you'll just see it as uncooperative behaviour. It's just something about having your space invaded, a feeling more than a sensible reaction. Honestly, I am really expected to give one about a company logo on everything? do I want all the notice boards in the building to look the same?  

To be honest though, I had my photo taken for the wanted list that hangs in reception and even I didn't realise just how far in to the kingdom of the "I don't care" I'd actually traversed. Far from the amiable chap I am, a countenance not unlike a Serbian war criminal stared back at me from the shiny photo paper. I look like someone that appears on Crimewatch or similar late evening worry making programmes. It's the beard. I shaved a while ago through spouse pressure but as my natural bent to not really give a shit about it kicked in again, I neglected my promise to keep clean. I have now gone through the merely unshaven to the possible trouble maker stage, a beard suggests crimes of free thought and that just won't do.

 It's typical. In an environment where the individual journey and development of someone is something I'm encouraged to bring about, the idea of any individuality with anything else is somehow always swept away in a sea of corporate indentikit  thinking, where it struggles for breath and slowly sinks beneath the waves of everything should look the same .