I toss my pen away in despair. It is a bright purple pen, the brightest I could find. As if having a bright purple pen would cheer me up and give me the strength to continue my arduous trek through the pages of this vomit of a document.
I stare at it disbelievingly, refusing to comprehend how such a pretentious excuse for a product of intellect has drained so many valuable hours of my life. How I sit with my purple pen and correct poor excuses for sentences instead of looking out my plane window at the twinkling lights below, instead of tossing away my worries together with my sweat on the treadmill, instead of writing nonsensical proses, instead of staring into space as I hug my mug.
I want to say "I cannot! I will not!" I will remember this day forever as I submit my resignation letter in a few years time. Life at a corporate desk reviewing black letters on white paper that have no life in them, just monetary words, legal words, pretentiously complicated phrases that die before they even begin because they are not meant to invoke any insight or emotion. There is no sense in this lack of madness.