Summer Reading - a short on rebellion and dissatisfaction

I do feel dissatisfied with my job, and my life in general to be honest. But I think everyone feels it, you know? I mean everyone I know, especially the younger, more idealistic girls, have told me that they were not expecting life and work here to be this mundane. But, I’m not sure if this makes sense, I think, like, the city has some kind of power over us (laughs), like, it disables our ability to fight back or something. I don’t know. But I do feel this acceptance of mediocrity is taking something away from us.

- Joe

Eve

Her job was to sleep, the doctor had said. Take 2 with water, 15 minutes before you go to bed. It’s been 2 hours, and the rough calico covering of the sofa was a persistent reminder that she was still awake. She closed her eyes more firmly and tried to breathe as little as possible. Deep breathing stimulates consciousness according to the doctor. She saw herself sitting at the coffee table, staring down, expressionless, at this lump of cloth and flesh desperately trying to reject consciousness. Her lips curled. And then she was back. The heavy pounding of her heart put a sudden stop to this escape while the boundaries of consciousness returned. She had been holding her breath.

Resigned to the indistinguishable spots of reds and blues behind her eyelids, she thought of Jake. They haven’t spoken for months. Her friends, with their usual sneer, had told her he started smoking. It’s just cigarettes, she said defensively, then quickly remembered their situation and rearranged her face to be non-chalant. It’s no big deal, and I wouldn’t care anyway. They just sneered.

Turning around to peek at the wall clock, she secretly congratulated herself for passing a whole hour in memories, while also being guiltily reminded that physical movement delayed sleep for up to 30 minutes. Sighing, she closed her eyes on reality, annoyed at its presence. Klaxons in the distance reminded her that the City was awake all night long. Her mind travelled past the skyscrapers back to her town. Looking at her bills, her father had been furious, city people, vengeful spittle flying everywhere, how do they sleep at night. At this, she resisted the urge to cringe. She was half an hour behind already.

4:30. Leaning back and taking a deep breath, she rubbed her eyes open. Ceiling, clock, window, stomache, she threw up her arms in protest and quietly called life a piece of shit. That’s five days in a row. She walked over to the calendar, and marked a diagonal line. Neat clumps of black lines stared back at her like amused veterans sizing up the new recruit. They knew she was going to crack soon. At the sink, she surveyed her apartment for a place to drink her espresso. Fancy packaging has prompted to her buy many things she didn’t need. She finally settled on the bean bag in her ‘cosy’ but cold living room.

As the first magenta rays lit up the blue pouches under her eyes, she thought of the office and decided she was legitimately sick. Again, the doctor’s words came back to her. She sighed inaudibly. She needed a real job.

JTL