28: Death

random books


Can’t believe it! Kept in by the wind and rain, I just picked up a random book from a random shelf in my kitchen. Yes, there are books galore in every room in my house, and it is a rare moment in which I regret the purchase of any of them.

Except today!

The book in question – the book soon-to-be-the-only book ever to be burnt in my garden burner thingy (you know – the big fat things that look like clones of Henry VIII with his head chopped off!), has the endearing title (why did I pick this one up?) of ‘Rules at Work’. I can’t really name the author because he is clearly a member of the wa**erhood that I ranted about in my last post! And, if I did name him, I would be calling said name a wa**er. I guess this means, if I don’t name him, that I can’t quote him. This is fine, as I reckon I’m equipped with the ability to paraphrase, summarise, abbreviate and synonymise.

Anyway, according to Author, to get the most out of my job, I have to get a thrill out of disposing of my fellow workers and lowlies. And if I don’t find such things entertaining, I should go and claim my entitlement to dole money. But, if I take that option, it is highly likely that I will die within a year. Work, it seems, is a crucial part of our very being. And, the fact that in the workplace, one never knows what is in store for us, or what new crisis is just around the corner, all adds to the adrenaline uptake that keeps us going.

Well, Mr Author, there is something seriously flawed about a person who enjoys stamping upon others, and who can still go home, indulge in a bit of chit chat with his wife, and then, still all charged up by his day’s achievements, go and get a good night of conscience-free sleep.

There is also something seriously something-or-other about an author who thinks it cool to give off an aloof and distant demeanour, just in case you might become your work-non-mate’s boss one day. Have you considered this, Mr Author, this – the serious flaw in your logic? How am I, your once-was-devoted reader, supposed to become someone’s boss, when I have, at your instruction, just fired all of my colleagues?

Can’t believe that, once upon a time, in my dark and distant and seriously deluded youth, I picked up your book – liked what I read – and bought it! Bought it? Paid money for this trash?

Don’t get me wrong – I too enjoy work! Writing posts about the nonsense ideas of other writers, brings me immense pleasure. This is work; no-one’s paying me for it; and I’m high on adrenaline, without any necessity to crawl up the piled-up remains of the wounded.

What’s that? You can feel my hiking boots stamping over your skin? The footsteps are becoming louder and louder by the second? You’re in the wrong job! Time to retrain as a medium. I am, after all, about to get out of the day job … and have, according to you, just about a year left to live …..

What you forgot to mention in your book, is that, after that year, when the last haunting voices from the day job have faded into nothingness, the ones who opt to go it on their own, start to live again – to live the life that nature intended.

A life sustained by one’s efforts to suck up to the boss’s best buddies, is a non-life.

A life in which one has room in which to create and grow into their own future, rather than be customised into a future created for them by the in-crowd of boss buddies, will, at least, be it short or long, be a life worth living!

For once, my Hubby is right (sorry, Hubby – you are, of course, right all of the time (when you always agree with me)), I have too many books.


Time to hit the burner!

Copyright owned by Jay Cool, June 2019


P.S. Sorry, I let all of you readers (i.e. Ricardo Scribblero!) down by not getting out and about in my pink tutu today. But, give me some slack – it’s pretty wet out there!


Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

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