In an unpredictable reality I find myself at ease. I am doing the mindless tasks of the unwanted. The focus on each scrap of metal grows with every misplaced smudge on the ash painted floor. I can take this meaningless occupation to another level in the clouds of being. The push broom drags debris from the outside world and clumps of white canine hair across the stress mats. My purpose here is to exist between my needs and wants simultaneously. I move to the beat of my racing pulse to push the bead of sweat milling its way out from my hairline into a sense of accomplishment. At last, I can say I am without a sense of pride. The choices that had mapped me to back to minimum wage are in my dust pan and into the trash can. I place the broom aside for a moment while my attention asks, "Where can I make progress in this small realm of a person's meaning of waking-life?" The rag and spray bottle are now hanging on my fingers. Ultimately I get no satisfaction with the end to my informal ritual. I can only savor the cream white finish of each machine. The light gray fingerprints I wipe away soothe my anxiety with a shot of dopamine and a whiff of 409. The smell of petroleum based coolant fills the air and coats my skin each day as I dance around the 800 square foot metal shelter.
“digital blackout mimics a profound deep thought”
There exists a spark of joy that parades through my veins when the grinding sound of the forklift's starter ignites. The rumble of its engine and the potential adventure that may grace my day. But the inevitable temporal fiction to the hours that I exchange for pay weaves its reality back into my bones. My body is not what it used to be. I can feel the day wearing on my hands and knees when I wipe a spill or leak. To be in such a place I did not foresee has created a more humble character in the once confident arrogance of "Bobby". Whilst I am distracted to the break room to check the extension of me, I stare and swipe at a screen. For a whole minute I am at a tense state of ease. I have escaped my reality. It always pleases and releases me to a false sense of existing. The digital blackout mimics a profound deep thought, but is ultimately and artificial search of a text message or missed call. "I matter!" or "I feel wanted by someone" is what this flat-screened device delivers me. The minoot escape from my occupation leaves as soon as I am conscious again. The digital grip is temporary. My attention is back with my broom. There are more shiny metal flakes to push with my black bristles and more time to exchange for a means.
I leave the day broken and ambitious. My outlook is positive with sunny eyes beaming into the streets. The back wheel of my car screams in my ear as I make my way home. It reminds me that I owe investment to my box with wheels. I already feel the pain of dependence with each refuel. I find my way home everyday by habit. I pass the homeless and the drug addicted prostitutes to remind me of my spoiled expectation that I have it better than I think. The ambition grows stronger as I pull into my parents driveway or as I answer a phone call from my partner that carries my child to be. I have more meaning now. I am serving a purpose. What has brought me to this particular roadway in life has been fate and choice. My choices have been driving my fate or rather my fate has been driving my choices? Whichever point of view I accept, I find myself waking up at the same time each day to the glare of my tethered piece of communication. The technology that will ruin us all has its teeth so far in my gut that it can now sense my appetites.