Friday, April 25, 2008
Dissecting the habits of a caged monkey.
This is a photo of my cage. The place I sit for seven hours a day, watching a computer screen and feeling my hamstrings slowly contract through lack of use. I plaster the walls with pictures and mementos of happier times; the Scott 24hr, holiday snaps of Rachael in Adelaide and Queensland, Police Road rules stating that you can't lose your licence for drink riding and calendars of up coming events. There's a bike rack no more than 20 paces from my door but my bike sits by my side as a reminder, poised for the bell (just a figure of speech, although considering I don't get paid overtime, maybe a bell is not such a bad idea). JJJ plays on the stereo constantly in an effort to drown out the sound of commercial radio from down the halls. Papers are strewn over my desk, not because I'm untidy, but because I realise that it really does make me look a bit busier and it makes it easier to feign being overwhelmed by deadlines. Riding for a couple of hours before work every morning leaves me with quite an appetite, so boxes of muesli bars, fruit and chocolate line the shelves. Plunger coffee gives me barely enough strength to make it through the day. In summer it's too hot in the air conditioning and in winter it's too cold, so my shirt sits on the safe as my body tries to cope with a constant variation in climate.
Sure, it's far better than being shot at in a far away country, but it's really not my thing. I feel like a caged monkey......