Today, I have a meeting with my union steward. I have reached the pinnacle of what I can endure. I am up here on my own, looking down and seeing what goes on and like history that can’t be changed so too does my outlook. It is cold up here and I know no one cares so long as I fit in to the cogs of the big machine which operate in the wrong direction to that of the caring conscious. This act which I have learned so well, does not fit me like a glove, but is like the mask that was designed for another face and it keeps slipping down on me. This mask is the mask with the big black tear and black painted smile. I am sitting on a rock and I cannot fly away and so I wait until the time when I can come down from here. I sit and mull over my regret. I go along a section of corridor which has many different offices and a row of little shops as though I am in a shopping mall. The shops are in the wrong location, they have no place here. This hospital is all about making money from the sick, the company that owns the car park wants as much money as possible. It is all sewn up and it is endorsed with yellow double lines all around the outside of the hospital, just in case any of the bleating sheep stray from the flock and try to escape the payment. The sick and their families are herded in to make the payment to the company that sits on a wealth that is stolen on opportunistic illness and disease. Gaining profit from the sick could only be dreamed up and acted upon by people who have no conscious and it is the quintessence of all evil. I knock on the door of the Union office and am ushered in. I tell my steward everything but the words are hard to find and I feel it comes over, like gobbledygook. I am trying to say that I am being bullied but instead I pick out example after example. I feel confused and my emotions run high. I have not been eating properly and my sugar levels will be low. I see that the steward knows what I am saying and listens intently. My steward reminds me of a wise owl and has a wealth of information. I am in the situation whereby I must fight or flight. I feel I do not have the energy to fight and my body is warning me that I must run away. Still, I know in my head that I must fight back. I know my fight is against an army and not just one person. I talk until I can talk no more which is something quite unusual for me. Conversation is a commodity we all take for granted and we can iron out the most minuscule of detail with it.
Let The Battle Commence
I go back home and pour coffee into my cup and consider my fight. I do feel apprehensive like a soldier getting ready for battle. I need to meet my bosses and we need to talk this out. I evaluate what I need to say and it goes round and round in my head like a tornado about to hit a little village. Until then I need to stay calm, the calm before the storm.
