Plain Sight
No one is reading this. It is a single page in Internet full of single pages.
This right here is a dream job. There are scams that promise and then fail to deliver what I've got here. This is the real thing. This a real live work from home, make between 40 and 50 thousand dollars a year job. It wasn't hard to get and it isn't hard to do, although it took some finagling. Everyone wants what I have. Everyone envies it. I know because they tell me so in no uncertain terms. And because it's not polite to tell people in casual interaction that you are slowly turning invisible from never being seen, I nod and tell them how great it is to spend all day in my pajamas.
No one should be reading this. I'm a middle class woman complaining about my job in a world full of starving children.
Here's the thing: there are no people. There's no one to talk to. There's no human interaction of any sort. Ever. And it's a hell of a thing to wake up at 40 and realize that my longstanding and genuine misanthropy isn't really working for me anymore, and it never really has.I don't spend all day in my pajamas. I did for the first year of telecommuting and nearly went insane. Now I get dressed every day whether or not I have any sort of hope of actually leaving the apartment. It's a little game I play with myself. It's called Maybe I Will Speak Today.
I am not shy. I am not agoraphobic. I am not ugly, unintelligent, uneducated, or uninteresting. This isn't about my nonworking life. This is about during the day. This is about from 8 to 6, when there is no one, ever, anywhere near me.
No one will read this.
No one knows I'm writing it.
No one will ever know.
It's in plain sight.
This right here is a dream job. There are scams that promise and then fail to deliver what I've got here. This is the real thing. This a real live work from home, make between 40 and 50 thousand dollars a year job. It wasn't hard to get and it isn't hard to do, although it took some finagling. Everyone wants what I have. Everyone envies it. I know because they tell me so in no uncertain terms. And because it's not polite to tell people in casual interaction that you are slowly turning invisible from never being seen, I nod and tell them how great it is to spend all day in my pajamas.
No one should be reading this. I'm a middle class woman complaining about my job in a world full of starving children.
Here's the thing: there are no people. There's no one to talk to. There's no human interaction of any sort. Ever. And it's a hell of a thing to wake up at 40 and realize that my longstanding and genuine misanthropy isn't really working for me anymore, and it never really has.I don't spend all day in my pajamas. I did for the first year of telecommuting and nearly went insane. Now I get dressed every day whether or not I have any sort of hope of actually leaving the apartment. It's a little game I play with myself. It's called Maybe I Will Speak Today.
I am not shy. I am not agoraphobic. I am not ugly, unintelligent, uneducated, or uninteresting. This isn't about my nonworking life. This is about during the day. This is about from 8 to 6, when there is no one, ever, anywhere near me.
No one will read this.
No one knows I'm writing it.
No one will ever know.
It's in plain sight.
posted by Nancy at 8:38 AM
2 comments
