Burnout

 I moan on Monday

and groan and prepare to face the mundane, the twisted, and the jealous

horrified of the comfort they find in the mundane, the petty squabbles, the time-consuming gossip, and backbiting

I die as I sit in the Wednesday vortex of mindless nothingness and wonder as they strive to outdo to do themselves in a baseless competition of the unremembered

I wonder  at them

will you be immortalized for doting your i s and crossing your t s?

do you want to be immortalized?

could you be Immortalized?

I cringe at the petty  squabbles, the back-biting and vicious smear campaign that will be forgotten after retirement, 

when you are gone, you are forgotten as if you never existed, the minutes, the office bickering, the per-diem fights are  gone and forgotten after your valedictory  dinner, and you become either a cautionary tale or a nostalgic one.

The life of the consciously forgotten 

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