"Comatose, I was!"
reveals Marcia the Mushroom, an otherwise derelict suburban housewife
and mother to 9.7 million spores from Nunawading, Vic. She is describing
her mood on Friday after, she freely admits, she
"knocked a few ones back" in a silent but drunken tribute to the
artiste formerly living as Prince. "How can they keep me standing, alone
in a world so cold?" Marcia demanded. "Why do we scream at each other?"
she went on. Why indeed. "Dream
if you can a courtyard - an ocean of violets in bloom." There's
something in that for all of us. "Touch if you will my stomach, feel how
it trembles inside," she digressed. Icky.
What we are: A group of colleagues, drawn together by the desire to get through the day unharmed. Driven by the absurdity of failing computer systems, a nebulous vision statement, customer service touchpoints, several organisational charts, and hope. Hope above all else in a $50 million Powerball shared between us. These posts are a preamble to those periodic lotto draws.
Thursday, December 29, 2016
Marcia the Mushroom - 26 Apr 2016
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