This is the worst feeling in the world. You’re day is going well, it’s 11:00 in the morning on a Friday, three hours to go until you clock out and start you’re weekend, your first two day weekend in a long while. Three hours until you swipe that time card and go home to grab that first Corona. Only three hours till freedom and the boss man says you have to work tomorrow. Of course, mandatory overtime is bullshit, you know it, they know you know it…. they can’t make you work, but they can make you wish you had of. So like a mindless sheep you think of the grief, you think of the obligation, and you also think about all the fat overtime pay to pay all those fat overdue bills. You swallow your pride and tell them that you’ll be there…. and you will be there, sick and tired from staying up to late drinking beer and blogging.
You clock out but your day does not get any better.
You have a paycheck in your pocket but it’s already spent.
The wife is mad at you for working the next day, it seems you get grief no matter which way you crumble.
Lucky for me there is good beer and a pack of smokes at my side, good thing I have this blog that someone, anyone may read. Good thing for magazine editors that find some sort of value in my meandering…. waiting for me at home was an email from the editor of Trespass Magazine accepting two of my poems for the upcoming issue.
Another weekend down the proverbial drain, but at least someone is out there reading, and understanding exactly what the hell I’m trying to say.