7

 The tumble dryer spins as I stand beside it waiting for the cycle to end. ‘The only way it will end is if you walk away and do something else.’ I walk to my bedroom, climb into bed, pull the covers ups, the tumble dryer stops. I get back out of bed, walk back to the tumble dryer, and take out the towels so that I have a fresh one in the morning when I shower. A 7am meeting awaits. Every day there is a 7am meeting. It’s not so much 7am that I mind, it is more the fact that most meetings are simply not needed. To see a face, to exchange stories, that would be worthwhile, but, in most meetings, people leave their cameras off and the read numbers or ask for numbers. That could be a presentation sent as a message or linked in a webpage. 

                  AI is rampant, and yet people are working more than ever. That is, of course, until they become a number struck from a list and no longer have work. In anger they always repeat ‘but I gave so much.’ Until then, it is 7am meetings and 7pm endings. It is working holidays, and between holidays, and weekends, and not taking holidays, and pushing as much as one can push. I have a half-day… England play Argentina in the World Cup semi-final, and I want to watch it free from the people who set a reminder to send a message as the game kicks off. I want to be free to go and watch the game somewhere or to stay home and where is there… and to have a beer or a shot of scotch or both. I’m getting older and time is precious. 

                  The game ended in pain… our English heartbreak, the only thing we ever truly know. 




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