"Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative"
-Oscar Wilde
The air is stagnant all around.
We follow the same routines
day in and day out.
We talk of the same topics
around the same time
with the same type of inflection.
I breathe this air as a
normal person would.
But I know I'm not normal
(or at least I try not to be).
I know I'm capable of more.
I could set the world on fire
if I could find my way
to some cleaner air.
But I find no one else around me
feels the same way,
almost as if contentment
is the elixir of choice.
Why push the envelope when
everything in the neighborhood
is peaceful?
I just can't find that same peace
sitting in my cubicle
or staring out of my window
or milling about in the open.
I can keep the same pace in my sleep.
There's no challenge there.
Where's my parade?
Where's my award presentation?
Where's my pretty group of women
ogling over my presence?
I figured that if I can
perform this task of keeping
my levels of extraordinary down
and my level of consistency up,
I should get some type of
reward or recognition.
But none of these things
will ever be present.
There is but one thing that is encouraged.
Keep going.
Just keep going on.
Keep doing it over and over again,
day after day
and maybe they'll let me
perform the same tasks
over and over again
day after day.
It's not about aspirations and dreams
of upward movement and corner offices.
Those things are now considered
outside interferences.
Trying to maintain
is the only order of the day.
