Its been a while since I wrote about potatoes.I hate to think this is because of my inability to finish most things I start – unless there are compelling fictions like deadlines created by other people to ensure that I finish them. But of late, these deadlines have kept me too busy with things that I don’t care about, leaving me too tired to spend any time on things that I do like to think about and work on.
My days at the office range from entirely free to very busy, but are always uninspiring. Contrary to what I had anticipated before taking this job, there is nothing at the office which interests me at all. I feel unkind as I write this, but most of my colleagues are both bland and cruel (If you’re my colleague but are reading this because I told you about this blog, then you’re neither bland nor cruel).What remains of my spirits is sucked away by the claustrophobia of sitting in a closed space with a hundred other people, the noise of their fingers on keyboards, loud printers, and phones ringing-off the hook. When I need to sit patiently and look virtuously while they talk misogynistically to each other in loud voices (which always seems to happen), I can feel my heart break into several tiny pieces. And then, when a tired me comes home to a loveless house, to eat tasteless food, I just hide in my blanket, watch mindless TV, and eat junk food to forget the ignominy of my day.
And so, its hard work which makes me a couch potato. Its being a working class hero that makes me a working class hero.
The last week has been about not being a couch potato. I’ve been working out and eating fruits and have almost gotten rid of the fried snacks. Its difficult. When I’m on my way home, I dream of comfort which only store-bought carbohydrates seem to provide nowadays. Yet, I continue to keep-off the potatoes as I dream of futures states of unemployment.