From the mailroom to the stars

2002-05-30 - 1:54 p.m.

"You don't want to work in the mailroom your whole life, do you?" she posed.

"The mailroom? My whole life? My dear, I loathe the fundamentals of my job. Trudging laps around an office full of people who make more than I do. Staring various degrees of greater success than my own in the face. Pushing my mail cart, my cross, my ball and chain, in front of me, riding in its wake of ear drum tickling squeaks and creaks. Engaging lesser minds in idle water cooler chit-chat to drown out the pleas of my inner child to get out of Dodge and get some sun and fresh air. Working long hours in the occupational equivalent of a hamster wheel.

"Oh, my lust for something more substantial is overwhelming for no less, and quite often more than 8.5 hours a day, 5 days a week. To be swept away by a intellectually stimulating wind, to be fed grapes of knowledge by scholarly toga-clad goddesses. To take steps that leave prints, to change something, to affect. To be admired for attempting the great, rather than excelling at the mediocre.

"Verily, my imagination is capable of painting masterpieces of life and future that would make my current world blush. Rest easy, fair, that my dreams do not only happen at night, but my heart beats to the rhythm of their motivating taunts." I reply.

"I love you."

"I love you too."