85 lines
5.0 KiB
Plaintext
85 lines
5.0 KiB
Plaintext
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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #693
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`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
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888 888 888 888 888 "I Love A Charade"
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888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8
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888 888 888 888 888 " by Grlfrmars
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888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 6/18/99
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o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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It's time my delusions die and I start to live a real life. That's
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what I affirm each morning when I wake up. I start each day with the hope
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that I will not let fantasy take over my mind, that I will not spend the
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day in a private reverie. I also hope that I won't give in like I did the
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day before.
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It's difficult, you know, to carry on while constantly daydreaming.
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It has taken away from my performance at work, my studies, my personal
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relationships. It's tough to carry on a conversation with someone who is
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only paying attention to you in order to give you a part in his or her
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internal play, don't you think? Christ, do you know how many times I've
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done that? I've now lost all my friends but my dog Rosie, but even she is
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no longer willing to play. Seems my overactive imagination has cost me my
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life.
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My day begins: I wake at 6:30 AM, shower, dress, walk Rosie, and
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head out the door. I make the bus just in time, and prepare myself for the
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long, boring ride to work. While sitting in my cramped seat, I hear a
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voice say, "Your breakfast, ma'am," and I immediately try to block it out.
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It's time to concentrate on work now, work. I get to the office, where my
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boss has laid out a three-foot-high pile of folders on my desk, folders
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that I must file. "Must be the tedious work that fosters my overactive
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imagination," I muse. Filing can really let your mind wander.
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I start to see myself waking up in a large room, decorated completely
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in white, with floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall. The light streaming
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into the room is quite a contrast to the murky, dismal atmosphere I
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encountered today waiting for the bus. I am sitting up in a large brass
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bed with lovely white cotton bedding. Just then, a shout from my boss
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startles me, and I return to my filing. This job is going to kill me some
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day!
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Janeen, one of my coworkers, pops her head into my office and asks
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whether I'd like to join her for lunch. Janeen's a nice enough girl, a tad
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on the dull side, but every day I find myself sitting across from her at
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the West Side Diner in complete silence. This day was no exception. As
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our waitress went on about the daily specials and oh, you have to try the
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peach cobbler, I once again felt the warm sunlight on my face and awoke in
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the airy room of my earlier daydream. I got up an examined my
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surroundings, which included a large bathroom with a free-standing bathtub,
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everything gleaming white. I turned around and examined myself in the
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full-length mirror. My God, this is what I could look like if I weren't
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constantly filing! My eyes were clear and twinkling, my hands free of
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calluses and papercuts. As I was admiring my newfound self, a rap on the
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shoulder from our waitress let me know it was my turn to order. Throughout
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the silent lunch, I fought to keep from slipping into my dream.
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Janeen and I returned to the office a few minutes late, much to the
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chagrin of our boss. For some reason, he just called Janeen into his
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office. I found another large stack of files on my desk again, will it
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never end? It did end, five hours of struggling to concentrate later.
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When I finally finished, I went to my boss' office to announce my departure
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for the day. When I got to his office, he was sitting at his desk, and
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across from him was Janeen. They beckoned for me to sit down.
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"Rafaella," he began," I've noticed that you haven't really been
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paying attention to your work. Why, I find you sitting at your desk like a
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zombie, shoving folders into any drawer you like. That is unacceptable for
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this firm, Rafaella. Unacceptable. Janeen here tells me that you are
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often in a catatonic, dreamlike state during your lunches, and you come out
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of it all disoriented. Rafaella, I think I'm going to have to let you go.
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Your shoddy work has cost this firm too much already."
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See? Did I tell you my daydreaming was troublesome? As I packed up
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my clutt ered desk, I was privy to a glorious sunset, viewed from the
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balcony outside my immaculate white bedroom. As I sipped my glass of wine,
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my chambermaids readied my bed for the evening. "Ah, the bumbling
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bourgeois fantasy, one of my favorites," I sighed to myself. "Better go
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to sleep early," I say to myself as I slip into my designer nightgown and
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crawl into my luxurious brass bed, "I have to find a new job tomorrow."
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #693 - WRITTEN BY: GRLFRMARS - 6/18/99 ]
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