Wednesday 29 June 2011

Kissed by the axe

Unfit for work this week, I've been comparing the nuances between co-codamol and trammadol for a spasmodic symphony of pain from a cricked neck. Co-codamol seems to ease the spasms, it also makes me queasy and dopey. Trammadol, aka tremmadol, relegates the pain to something of an irritation, whilst hitting me with the buzz of a dozen double espresso's.

Back at the ranch, it seems the rumoured axe has manifested and culled the herd.

First they came for the poor performers,
    and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a poor performer.

Then they came for the long of tooth,
    and I didn't speak out because I wasn't long of tooth.

Then they came for the weak and sickly,
    and I didn't speak out because I wasn't weak and sickly.

Then they came for me,
    now just another weak and sickly, long of tooth, poor performer.


Someone up top is divorced from the ugly reality of a demoralised workforce, brutalised by repeated deep cuts, haunted by survivor's guilt.

Now I must focus on uncricking my neck, so it can be kissed by the axe come Monday.

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