What is it about a vacation week that seems to slow time down to a crawl?
Your Monkey was wondering this today as he sat in his cubicle prison, watching the seconds tick with ponderous slowness toward the end of the day.
His muscles ached and he squirmed in his seat and he stared at the catalog pages he was supposed to be proofing until the words became blurry and he sighed and he wondered when it would all be over.
Time got so slow that it seemed to stop altogether. The world around him disappeared and there was nothing but him and an endless pile of pages and an endless amount of time.
He thought about leaving. He dreamed about departing. He fantasized about throwing off the shackles of his corporate overlords, unzipping his uncomfortable monkey skin and running full speed through his gray cubicle maze with nothing but his insides showing.
Oh, how he’d run! He’d run and he’d laugh and he’d cry and he’d give each any every employee a catalog page of their own to proof, and then he’d turn in his badge and he’d run out the door and go dancing into the streets.
That’s what he thought about doing. But instead he sat and he worked and he worked and he worked. And time dragged and dragged and dragged.
And with a brutal slowness, the clock finally reached five. And he was finally able to go home.