It’s a cold day. It’s a first day. It’s a tax day.
We are officially within the grip of winter. It is the first day of July. It is the first day in which an income tax assessment can be submitted.
I am sitting on a chair on the first day of July which is also the first day of the ability to do the income tax assessment magic thing money-blaster that makes adults weep and rage with the fury of at least fourteen suns punching on with a bunch of kangaroos before they all go down to the pub for a nice cold one or two before the inevitable argument over who buys the first round which would lead to another punch up.
Today is a day in where I am sitting in front of a computer at work because I am at work working whilst work works itself out around me and all I want to do is begin eating the walls in some vague attempt at beautiful, ambient drama with a slice of lemon fish that has only been harvested during the pure glow of the full moon on the stillest of oceans, abandoned by the winds of change that would guide the trade routes to their destination on a salty morning of fresh, grating breeze and whales moving en masse.
The waters were once as prosperous as any other body of ocean, but once the winds left the ability for people to gather resources and use them to travel easily diminished to nothing, although sometimes people in small boats are able to catch fish unlucky enough to be showing off when there is obviously a boat sitting on the surface, for which then they’d use the fish to feed their people and the creatures that inhabit their small village as it is a better alternative to something that is not good as an alternative to this option.
Sometimes the village would sacrifice people to the dragon that lives nearby, except that there was no dragon as instead of a dragon it was a bunch of people in a dragon costume. Once the people were sacrificed, the truth would be revealed to them and they’d go to the other end of the cave which was actually a tunnel and live a life of peace among the plants and animals and they would all be merry with each other and have a good time and drink happily and thus would dance merrily in some sort of amazing unison between human and non-human and there was much happiness and merriment and wild abandon.
That was until the day when that all stopped for a day, but then it resumed once more because it is impossible to stop the joy. It always comes back no matter how hard some people try.
That’s the great thing about joy: It grows up from the ground and usually veers to the left on a steep incline.
Sop it’s a slow day at work.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 08:37:34
I think I went off on a bit of a ramble with this.
Written at work.