The Work Song of C. Elise

All the silly vocab flows:

Synergy, ideation, & hacking growth.

—

My mug brands an uneven coffee ring on my 

    notebook, 

The stained cup whose escaped wet drops brown my     

    notebook, 

Exhaled its steam and began to grow cold, 

Lay still and black but rippled when touched, 

Let sit upon its rim the lipstick from my morning video  

    call, fig marigold, 

Sat on the notebook and went nowhere at all. 

And noticing it was a chilly November morning, 

Forgot its heat and settled into the fall. 

—

But of course, there will be more,

More fresh, hot coffee to lighten the mornings, 

Leaving an uneven ring on my notebook page;

There will be more, there will be more 

To wake you up and make you charming;

There will be more caffeine and anxiety, 

More for tasks and emails and meetings

To burn the candle at both ends, piously. 

More and more, and more and more

Enough coffee to fill the time I cannot recover.

Enough to fill mugs in the places I’ll not discover. 

Perhaps I’ll take it with avocado toast. 

—

All the silly vocab flows:

Synergy, ideation, & hacking growth.

—

And of course, there will be what ifs

“What if I could go back and study Lit?” 

With lines that line my eyes

Would they notice that my hair is dyed?

Or that my hips have grown in size?

My “casual cool” doesn’t hang as loose

My what ifs climb the gallows to the hangman’s 

    noose

They will say, 

“She had so much potential”

But what if?

What if I left it all behind? 

Someone else could click this mouse just fine

It wasn’t designed with me in mind, and it’s not as 

    fulfilling as I had believed.

—

For I have quit them all already, quit them all: 

The corporates, the startups, the freelance stints

In a horizonless calling to job fulfillment 

Success sirens lured me to sterile cell walls 

The pointlessness was hidden in the fine print

    Shouldn’t have pursued approval after all

—

And I have justified these decisions already, justified  

    them all—

“A 9 to 5 would give me time to write”

And when night falls and the page is blank

When the morning returns me to my office stall

Then how might I escape

To take a dip in gurgling creeks bathed in sunlight?

    Shouldn’t have pursued approval after all. 

—

And I have faked prowess already, I have faked it 

    all—

A confident laugh and a competent stare 

(But in the webcam spot another grey hair!) 

Is it kind words from a peer

That anchor me here? 

“You’re doing great,” they coo and call

    Do I need approval after all? 

    Then how might I escape? 

—

I have wandered down wooded trails in the wet, crisp morning mist

And watched the sun climb higher to pick the dew from the grass, 

Before sitting on a log to do nothing at all…

—

I should have been a pair of outstretched wings

Coasting, whirling, on a hot breeze 

—

The days, the weeks slip by so quickly! 

The gears are turned by invisible fingers 

And the longing for meaning lingers 

Bouncing off my office walls, knocking into my 

    degree

Should I, during Zoom happy hour, 

Confess my doubts and descend my tower?

Though I have stood triumphant on the mound of my 

    achievements 

I have stood there doubtful, reflecting on the climb

For I am no Buffet — only wasted time

There’s a 10-year-old version of me somewhere,  

    unaware

She will take up marketing. 

—

Was it so great, after all

The benefits, titles, and company swag?  

I can’t remember the conference, but I have the tote 

    bag.

Is it worth what I’ve missed?

The galaxy that’s been placed on a waiting list, 

The coral, canyons, and thundering falls,   

Tea and shopping with Mom on a Tuesday afternoon,

To touch death’s cloak and utter, 

“I wish I had had the balls. If only I had had the balls”

If I, logging out each day mutter

    Some joke about needing alcohol

    Covering my loss with alcohol 

—

Was it so great, after all? 

Is it worth what I’ve missed? 

After the kudos and closed deals and the punctual 

    direct deposit, 

After calculating the word choice for a formal but 

    friendly mail—

Algo lejos de mi fairytale—

Does that make any sense?

To live as if comfort and position must be had at art’s expense.

Is it worth what I’ve missed?

If I, settling into my ergonomic chair for the long haul, 

Rest my wrist on a mousepad and mutter: 

    Some joke about needing alcohol, 

    Covering my loss with alcohol 

—

Left to fantasize about an Elizabeth Gilbert life

But I’m a digital content and copywriter 

Helping software blogs get more subscribers

I’ll make the message on your website tighter

Does your webinar on AI need a transcriber? 

Collaborative, detailed, open to feedback

How’d I get so far off track?

Two clicks away from a panic attack—

Oh, but you wanted stability

—

Another year come…another year gone 

Will I find solace in the care of my lawn? 

—

Shall I switch to decaf? Do I dare book a birdwatching trip? 

I shall stay in touch and visit friends with my little homemade dip.

For I ignored the call to board the pirate ship. 

—

I do not think they will return for me. 

—

I watched the jolly roger escape my view 

From the window of my home office 

Fingers on the keyboard, enduring, nauseous

Eyes on the vessel that bobs out to sea 

Where the bold explorers aren’t tied down 

Till notifications ping us, “and we drown”