Day three of my return to the laminating factory as a machine operator and I'm about ready to be done. Never have I endured such boredom, and never have I seen the clock move with such sloth. And when I say the term sloth, I want you to say it in your head like David Attenborough would: sloth. Mm, I'm writing this from my phone which doesn't allow me to put the macron over the "o" which would change the pronunciation from sloth, to sloth. See, it still didn't work. But this should do the trick.
That last paragraph is a perfect example of what I write when my brain isn't being creative. Nothing about a laminating machine brings out the best in me, nor does it challenge me in any way. I load a machine, set it up, and watch it run. All day. I can't believe I did this for a year without launching myself off of a cliff while driving to work.
I'm not suicidal, and there are no cliffs in the area of A.M.G. Laminating over which I could perform such a maneuver, so don't get any ideas, it was just a thought.
My birthday came and went, and I don't feel any older. I did make the connection that, in two more years, I will have to get my prostate examined. Or maybe my colon, probably whichever is more intrusive of the two. Then my mind carried that vision even farther with a picture of a Doctor putting a finger in my butt, and me promptly having an orgasm and making a mess of the examinating table. I like to think that if that happens, the Doctor will feel embarrassed and forego any medical expenses normally incurred with such a procedure. And to be even more graphic, my mind is currently showing me David Attenborough being fingered by a Doctor while saying his version of the word sloth, over and over.
See, that's what I think about while I'm laminating paper. I have completely wasted this post, and your time. I will write something with more substance after work, when I go to the coffee shop before my meeting tonight. See, I just made this post about recovery!
That last paragraph is a perfect example of what I write when my brain isn't being creative. Nothing about a laminating machine brings out the best in me, nor does it challenge me in any way. I load a machine, set it up, and watch it run. All day. I can't believe I did this for a year without launching myself off of a cliff while driving to work.
I'm not suicidal, and there are no cliffs in the area of A.M.G. Laminating over which I could perform such a maneuver, so don't get any ideas, it was just a thought.
My birthday came and went, and I don't feel any older. I did make the connection that, in two more years, I will have to get my prostate examined. Or maybe my colon, probably whichever is more intrusive of the two. Then my mind carried that vision even farther with a picture of a Doctor putting a finger in my butt, and me promptly having an orgasm and making a mess of the examinating table. I like to think that if that happens, the Doctor will feel embarrassed and forego any medical expenses normally incurred with such a procedure. And to be even more graphic, my mind is currently showing me David Attenborough being fingered by a Doctor while saying his version of the word sloth, over and over.
See, that's what I think about while I'm laminating paper. I have completely wasted this post, and your time. I will write something with more substance after work, when I go to the coffee shop before my meeting tonight. See, I just made this post about recovery!
