Dream Dicer 2000

It is quite an image, really—the way the beautiful white paper slips into the metal teeth. With a murmur of content, the jaws slice the delicate sheet into threads of incomprehensible refuse. One more dream, one more hope, one more option out with the unclaimed faxes. ‘Paper shredder’ hardly is a suitable name for a device that greedily mangles my attempts to build a career. What title is more appropriate for the vile machine? Dream Disemboweler Pro? Dream Dicer 2000?

It reminds me of that scene from the movie Office Space. Yes, you know which scene: the introduction to the cursed fax machine that has a mind of its own. Sure, the Dream Dicer is not guilty of faulty conduct, but my frustration for it is the same as the angst portrayed by Michael Bolton at Inotech. For whatever reason, all of Michael’s irritation with the office pours into the malfunctioning fax machine; mishaps that turn into a full outburst. 

For every day that I continue to sit at this desk—in a grey cubicle, without the possibility of another job to pull me out—I find that I loath the merciless Dream Dicer more because it continues to shred my hopes into confetti without hesitation. Instead of jamming or stuttering, like the Inotech fax machine, the shredder greedily functions. In this case, a stutter would be appreciated; it would be like a sign to tell me that all the hopes inked on the paper are not entirely out of reach. Instead, it is as if the Dream Dicer knows that my attempts to escape are fruitless. The damn machine is heckling me.

Watch your back Dream Dicer. Now, *looks under desk*…where is my bat?

And So It Begins

Hours of nothing waddle past my cubicle. After a rush of work came a lull of nothing. As if the office was not uncomfortable enough. Co-workers, who scarcely acknowledged my existence before, will not be able to tell the difference between me and the mannequin that I plan to position in my chair. [see above]

I tell you, this stuffy office will like this shiny mannequin. She will never smile. She will not even frown. The only expression she will have is one of blank disconnection — nothing will faze her in either a positive or negative way. With her demeanor, the mannequin will be able to sit indefatigably through countless hours of minimal work and limited-to-nonexistent human interaction. What a perfect replacement for me.

——

Sadly, I just learned that my mannequin is lost in the mail. I have no hope of tracking her down, especially since I live near so many department stores. It was a dream. A dream cut off in its prime. It is sad to say, but I think that I need to come up with another plan. I need to abort operation ‘office mannequin.’ I need a new way to maintain sanity.

And thus—arising epically from the mists of a vast, grey lake of cubicles—enters the blob. Oops, I mean BLOG.

Writing is a passion and I intend to keep it that way. The plan is to keep myself on my toes and keep my toes away from the edge of crippling thoughts about my currently foggy future. While I endeavor to prevent this site from slipping into the realms of deeply depressing personal catharsis, some posts are bound to be less light-hearted than others. Hopefully, the posts will at least be entertaining. But like LeVar always says on PBS’s Reading Rainbow: “You don’t have to take my word for it.” Read on intrepid net-crawler, read on.