Work. Play. NOW

As I sit by myself at the desk, I look around. The absence of windows makes it impossible to discern morning from night. Dusk from dawn. Hell, I don’t even know when it rains.

The yellow-beige striped wallpaper stares forlornly back at me as it surrounds me in a cheerful array of alternating colour. I suppose its better than the glare of plain white. Which is better than nothing I guess. The great thing about striped wallpaper is how it goes around edges. And I’m not talking about straight edges either. I mean like the concrete supports that stick out from the ceiling. The wallpaper wraps it’s self around it like a fat kid around a lollipop. But that’s fatist. I love lollipops as much as the next lollipop-loving person out there – fat or thin. But I’m getting away from the topic at hand.

I see a glimpse of green and maroon in the form of books to my north-west. The gold inscription is repetitive but at least I have some glitter throughout the day.

The chair is flat. Flat like a pregnant woman sat on it. Which it has been. No, not me. I’m not pregnant, you gossipmongers. My colleague, Vivian, is. Almost 4 months next week she tells me with a smile. It’s a nice thing to have I suppose. A tiny human parasite inside you. I like babies. They are cute.

The gaudy red three-seater faux-leather couch sits half in and half out of the florescent lighting. The material as pristine as the day it was bought. But that’s not saying much. The essence of thousands of buxom-bottom imprints remain lurking deep within the foam below. But it does make a somewhat comfortable resting place. Just hope it won’t be my last.

The matching armchair in the corner of the room watches the door like a hawk. Well, more like an armchair. It wait and guards unblinkingly. Mostly because it doesn’t have eyelids. Because it doesn’t have eyes. It’s a strange paradox one feels when trapped in the gaze of an eyeless armchair. Strange, but creepy.

The phone remains silent. For now.