A Day In the Life...

I roll out of bed, this time I land on my feet. Its a good sign, means I was awake this time. At first the room seems to be at a strange angle but coming to my senses I realize it is I who is at a strange angle. Sometimes, if I'm not careful, I imagine that the room is moving, and I'm sure it is from some perspective, its all relative. In this case its more relative than usual. I hit the ground , gotta be at work soon and even though work is only about 100ft away, I still have to wash up and get some caffeine in my blood stream. I look at my watch, its 2:30 AM.

The next four hour pass like a half waking dream, the usual routine. I can smell breakfast cooking and as the greasy fumes travel from the kitchen through the ventilation system to my nostrils I begin to leave my dull and lifeless state. I can feel a twinge of hunger growing, giving me purpose. 15 more minutes.

As the line of identically dressed clones moves slowly toward food, tension builds slightly. I grab my silverware and plain brown tray and move toward the plain brown food. To my right is a menu boasting a selection of misspelled foods, totally unlike what is offered to me. As I devour my small feast the dinning room suddenly jumps to the left. My left hand is unwilling to give up my tray to inertia, momentum or gravity, but the man next to me spills his cereal on me. Across the table a cup of milk skids off to meet the floor. Silverware rings out as it hits here and there followed by a smattering of curses. No one betrays annoyance with alarm or even concern. My work day has almost begun.

The routine is routinely put forth in great detail lest any man claim ignorance. Down to the inner spaces 'where the sun never shines' and the day never ends. Where the insanely powerful forces of nature are harnessed to do mans will. Equipment is fixed. Floors are cleaned. A thousand variables are controlled, varied and recorded. There's cleaning to be done. "Cleanliness is next to readiness." Over by the workbench a man is handing out jobs. Time to make myself scarce.

Lunch comes and goes just like breakfast. Or is it dinner? Four more hours and I'll be on watch again. Soon it will be tomorrow. About three hundred more watches and this tour will be over. Three more years after that and I'll be out. Easy time, not.