martedì, novembre 14, 2006

A Room With a View

Last night I dreamt my office building was being moved from where it is now to some raised foundations on the river (which isn't there. On Sunday whilst photographing prettiness with Figaro, I realized how fucked it is there isn't a proper river in the city.) I thought the move was the height of idiocy, especially since it happened in the middle of the working day whilst we were all there. But as we approached the river and I realized the sweet fucking view I was going to get, I experienced a moment - just a moment - of pleasure.

Anyways, the building movers overshot the mark and released us in the middle of the river just past the foundations. It felt as though my skyscraper was rocking back and forth on a sandy riverbed, about to topple. Luckily I had broken my window in a fit of pique earlier that day, and gauged that I could use my chair to beat down my co-workers while I broke the windows on the opposite side of the building. The fact I was on the 16th floor didn't seem to bother me; the only thing that bothered me was waiting to see which way the building was going to fall so I could scramble out the other side.

It was sensible that it didn't bother me, because the building turned into a schoolbus floating in a huge pool. My broken window was just above the water level. My co-workers started acting like retards, talking about opening the doors and going out, forgetting the water would wash in and maybe break their necks. I was annoyed but couldn't get my tits up to climb out my own window without a sort of group acquiescense until I saw someone in a floating schoolbus ahead of us do just that. I scrambled out, clambered over the side of the pool, and went back to my apartment to search for the reefer a Basque terrorist had hid in my jewelry box.

The moral of the dream?

I need a new fucking job. But will it help? Since I gave up television, never liked magazines that weren't the Economist (though I am waiting for my first issue of the Utne Reader, that I bought from my neice while she was carrying out a subscription drive for her crazy-ass school) and don't watch MSN Video, I'm exposed to comparatively little aggressive advertising, but it's more than enough. I could quit my job ten times over, and the only result would be that I didn't have to study and write about methods of aggressive advertising - I'd still see them every day.

Sometimes I think the real reason I want to move back to France is that it's still socially acceptable for angry young men there to spray-paint obscene messages on billboard advertising about how much they fucking hate advertising.

5 commenti:

Melbine ha detto...

I would say that if your desire to leave your job is invading your dreams, then yes, it will help to get a new job! You've been there over 2 years now right? That's a great amount of experience to put on your resumé..

Are you on the 16th floor in reality or just in your dream? If it's the case, what is that like??

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

No, it'll be two years in February. And one year in my present role in February, which is the important thing.

February was my original planned departure time but I have to pay off some debt and I want to save some money before we leave town forever, so now it's May. Probably about a week before Sugar's wedding.

Boo, boo, boo.

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

I work on the tenth floor, actually. But a whole whack of people I know seem to live on the 16th floor of their building so I'm easily confused.

Anonimo ha detto...

That must have been a fun dream - full of ups and downs! And floating. It is fun to float in dreams.

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

Yeah. It was fun. I got to make out with the Basque arms dealer later, too, that was cool, and sort of bittersweet because he was on his way to get arrested or blow something up, I'm not sure which.