I speculate in my free busy time

For no reason other than idle speculation, which I have undertaken with great gusto ever since I've started to notice that every day seems to be like waking, wasting time and sleeping, I've come to the conclusion that I am eventually going to be fired for idleThinK.

Fired for my writing. Novel, isn't it? (Novel, ahaha)

It's not rare for someone to be persecuted for their personal writings, however much you disclaim or claim extemporization or disguise names and places and scenarios. It's happened to people I know, and people I know of. And it's happened to me before - in the realms of school, love life, sex life, work, family, morals, ethics, beliefs, religion. You name it, I've been blamed, defamed, and yes! even maimed for it.

All aspects of my life, basically. Christ. People will excavate scandal out of a half-baked sentence.

In response to this carping scrutiny, I'm sour. Sour, and subtle.

I've yet to be fired for idleThinK, but I envision that it's only a matter of time i.e. when I have a proper job to be fired from. Rampant idle speculation has predicted that this will transpire in several possible scenarios, including but most certainly not limited to the following:


  1. My boss will catch me blogging about how much work I have to do, while evidently not actually doing the work, and fire me.
  2. I will complain about the company I'm working for, using a complex metaphor involving the literary representation of the Board of Directors as a sewage factory. They won't get it, but will fire me anyway. You know, just in case.
  3. I will endlessly feature extemporized caricatures of my co-workers and boss in my writing until someone gets pissed off, even though I will have taken care to mention no names. They'll tip off the Authorities, I'll be taken to a nondescript little conference room, be told that the company no longer has use for slanderous smartarses with blog addictions and by the way they hate my website and my hair, and then be taken down into the basement and beaten with lead pipes.
  4. In writing about someone, I'll use a word they don't understand, which they will instantly take to be an insult. They will accost me in the subway and clobber me senseless with their briefcase. This will render me unconscious until the next morning, causing me to be late for work, and thus, fired.
  5. I will write a poem that my paranoid Stalininst boss will interpret as secret code for distributing company accounts secrets, and be shot. Fired, haha.

The possibilities are endless. Endless, I say!

Incidentally, while I should be getting started on my term essays due next week, I am here instead, fabricating scenarios for my imminent redundancy in a job I haven't even gotten yet. I'd write a similar spiel for scenarios in which I fail university due to the terminal inability to write term papers, but I think it would strike too close to home.

Terminal papers, heehee.