My Smartphone clearly does not live up to its name. I spent lunch writing a post (lying on my back on my little stone looking up at the sun shining through the trees) but my phone died. Not to worry, I thought, my iPhone will surely save the draft but, no, it appears to have disappeared for good.
I wish I could say I felt it mattered, but it doesn’t. I come home from work, and I have got absolutely nothing to say about my day. I cried a little again today because the manager sent round his daily report of the team’s stats, and there was my “EPH” (emails per hour) in big, red writing. The red writing is for those of us who do not meet the EPH goals. Of course, I don’t care really about these stupid stats; it just seems so symbolic of my life right now that I am being measured against the number of ridiculous emails I can send out per hour.
I’m feeling better now – if you can call feeling “bleh” better – but earlier, just after my phone died, some guy passed by me as I lay on my little stone, and it occurred to me that he could probably get away with murdering me right there and then. The lake and the trail are not far away from civilization at all…but still. It also occurred to me that I might not even mind being murdered. Feeling somebody’s hands close around my throat in a vice-like grip might be the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in ages.
Considering the way I feel about my life right now, hell, I might not even fight back.