Time to get ready for work. The shower feels nice. Picking out her oil dressing for the day is nice too. She usually picks flowers or one of the trees. She puts some under her tongue cause she’s afraid of cancer. It took her Dad and he lived a lot healthier than she did.
Time to go. She leaves the house with just enough time to get to the time clock on the dot. She can’t for the life of her understand people that get to work early then wait to clock in. She spends every available second at home. That’s where she gets to be real. That’s where she gets to be herself.
But for the next 8 or 9 hours, she’s under fluorescent lights and forced artificial air, making someone else rich. Oh boy. Why was she born into this life? Why now? She’s too late. Two or three hundred years ago, she would have been right at home.
But would she still be dissatisfied?
Anyway, the time clock says she has to put her dreams in her pocket and pretend she loves this store.
Suzanne Horrocks 