Lost time is never found again

Rutina a poposit si pe meleagurile mele iar timpul pare sa fie acccelerat.

La inceputul zilei, odata cu rasaritul soarelui ma pregatesc de o noua calatorie din aceasta scurta viata, de un element necesar si indispensabil, si anume locul de munca.

Somnoroasa, cu ochii intredeschisi ma aranjez in slow motion, parca cu vointa altcuiva, si imi arunc intr-o geanta cele necesare zilei respective.

In scurta deplasare catre slujba ma sprijin de un colt al ferestrei vehicului vechi de ani de zile si citesc randuri adunate de pe blog.

Odata ajunsa la birou imi croiesc drum inspre noul meu „spatiu personal”, sorbesc cateva picaturi dintr-o cafea fierbinte preparata pe fuga si incep sa continui munca din ziua precedenta.

Avize, rapoarte, retururi, bonuri de consum, toate asteapta sa fie facute in timp rapid, corecte si precise pentru a usura munca celor de sus.

Cu ochii atintiti in ecranul plat, ma pierd in cifre intortocheate, schimonosite de virgule, alte cifre si puncte dupa ele; notez date dintr-un program obosit de vreme si notiuni, introducandu-le in Excel, gandindu-le si asezandu-le in ordinea firii.

Scaunul de la birou e inconfortabil iar atmosfera e zgomotoasa… tipete se aud din stanga si din dreapta, nimic pare sa nu fie la locul lui si totul e alandala.

Privesc in jur pentru o lamurire, o rezolvare la problema mea dar toata lumea pare sa fie blocata in dezordinea ei, aruncand hartii si cuvinte fara rost.

Dezamagita de situatie, ma ingrop in alte documente si calcule, dorindu-mi sa fi stiut rostul si scopul meu in acel loc.

Afara soarele topeste persoane nervoase, lasand in urma sudoare si indignare. Inauntru, razele sale poposesc foarte putin, aerul cald fiind inlocuit de unul semi-rece, innabusit de aglomeratia persistenta de oameni agasanti ce pare a se amplifica.

daiga-ellaby-354462-unsplashDar orele se scurg cu repeziciune iar timpul pare sa isi fi uitat masura, scurgand din clepsindra smocuri de nisip.

Cei dragi? Uitati poate; se afla undeva, intr-un loc anume… in apelurile ratate de pe telefon. Mi-as dori sa ii aud, sa le descopar respiratia si starea de spirit. Mi-as dori sa ma invalmaseasca cu un val de energie si speranta, sa imi spuna ca totul va fi bine si eu nu sunt blocata undeva, intr-o cutie de chibrituri… .

English version

The routine has also landed in my land, and time seems to be accelerating.

At the beginning of the day, as the sun rises, I prepare for a new journey from this short life, a necessary and indispensable element, namely work.

Sleeping, with intriguing eyes, I get ready in slow motion, with someone else’s will, and I throw in a bag everything I need for that day of work.

In the short trip to the job I support myself to a corner of the window of the old vehicle who has years of functioning and read rows gathered from the blog.

Once I get at my office I’m making my way to my new „personal space”, sipping a few drops of the hot coffee made on the run and continue my activity from the day before.

Notices, reports, returns, consumer vouchers, all are expected to be made in quick, accurate and precise time to ease the work of the people above me.

With eyes fixed on the flat screen, I lose in twisted numbers, scattered by commas, other figures and points after them; I write down data from a tired program of weather and notions, introducing them into Excel, thinking about them and putting them in the order of nature.

The office chair is uncomfortable and the atmosphere is noisy… screaming is heard from the left and right, nothing seems to be in his place and everything is inside out.

I look around for clarification, a solution to my problem, but everyone seems to be stuck in their clutter, throwing pointless papers and words.

Disappointed by the situation, I bury myself in other documents and calculations, wanting to know my role and purpose in that place.

Outside the sun melts people, leaving sweat and indignation. Inside, its rays are very small, with the warm air being replaced by a semi-cold one, overwhelmed by the persistent agglomeration of the angry people that seems to be amplifying.

Hours rush out quickly and time seems to have forgotten the measure, leaking from the hourglass sandbags.

Loved ones? Forgotten; they’re somewhere, in a certain place… found in missed calls on the phone. I would like to hear them, to discover their breathing and mood. I would like them to embrace me with a wave of energy and hope, to tell me that everything will be fine and that I’m not stuck somewhere in a box of matches… .