Every day I’m upset. Every day I lose three hours to a bus. Every day I’m staring out the window thinking about what I’ve lost. Thinking about that amazing dream job that for six months was just that.

I think about the people I used to see every day. People held in great respect became friends. Friends that have made me a better person. I think about how instead, I now spend my work day in a stale fabric box, out of sight of any other.

I think about how this wasn’t what I signed up for. This wasn’t what brought me here. I think about how anyone could ever be happy in this environment. I wonder how on earth it is that a corporate culture could develop where battery segregation is considered acceptable, normal even. I wonder where it went wrong; I wonder who will burn in hell for his sick creation.

I feel angry. I feel hate. I hate that every morning I open this laptop and see clutter. I see everything left over from the night before, from the day before that, from the night before that. Stacked up; pending. Dragging my eyes all over, sitting in my peripheral vision. I hate that on this shared desktop, that which makes me happy is a distraction. I hate that on this shared desktop, that which drains me cannot be left behind when I leave.

I hate that as each day passes, and the isolation sets in, this becomes ‘normal’.

Every day I leave feeling like it wasn’t worth getting out of bed. I achieve so little, I have so little drive, I make so little eye contact, I shuffle out the doors numb and cold and careless. Care less; not care free.

I’m a drone, and I’m trapped here.