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Send My Conscience Home in a Taxi

Externalised Memory

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Existential Angst
Flaky Tree Friend
I was overcome with some existential angst yesterday, whilst sitting at my desk at work. I looked up and suddenly thought "My goodness, I'm sitting in a cubicle, in front of a computer, in passable work clothes. When did this happen???"

It sure feels like a long way from art school...

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Were there fluorescent lights overhead? Was one flickering or buzzing at the limits of conscious perception?
Had your eyes been at a fixed focus of about 40 centimetres for an hour or more?
Was there mediocre coffee freely available nearby?
Were you surrounded by people that you were passably sociable with on a quotidian basis but would never, ever, speak to or see again once you left there?
Were you without natural sunlight?
Were there partitions or cubicles in evidence?
Was what you were working on interesting, diverting, relevant or important to you in any way?
Did its success and triumphant production resonate with you on a personal level to any extent past the shallow satisfaction that it would continue to allow you to sell your life away forever eight hours at a time?

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