Self-Wounded Animal

On a cold and cloudless morning, I lay, basking on the concrete sidewalk outside my house, hoping to warm my blood. Where did things go so wrong? “Sir?”The concrete below and the endless sky above. Nothing but blue, covering up the stars. I wonder if a few thousand years ago someone would look up and see the sky and assume the stars were truly gone. I wonder if it’s a modern affliction to forget that part of ourselves. “Sir…”“What?”I am quickly thrust out of my daydreaming. An elderly woman stands over me. The sun only rose a few minutes ago, but she was already fully dressed even though she had nowhere to be.“You’re blocking the sidewalk.”I jumped to my feet apologizing. She doesn’t care. She started walking as soon as I was out of her way, responding by raising one hand as if to signal “I don’t have long left in this world, I’m not going to waste any time on you” I passed through the threshold of my house. The sound of cars, birds, and wind in the trees seemed like silence, but now that I was inside I remembered what silence truly was. I put on the same pants I’ve worn 3 days in a row and head to work. Usually I’d flood the car speakers with anything to distract from the ringing in my ears, but I left the radio off. I pulled into the parking lot and lingered a bit longer than I usually do. I look at the building in front of me. Grayish tan walls broken up only by black reflective windows. I contemplate for a second what it would be like to see outside during my work day. Maybe it would douse the burning dread in my heart, or maybe it would reduce me to crawl back into the woods like the animal we were born to be. The time on my dash read 9:12am.I grabbed my bag and ran inside. I said “morning” in about 5 different tones to about 20 different people. I wondered if there is meaning behind how I say ‘morning’ to different people? Do I say it differently to women? Do they notice this? Is there something horribly wrong with me? I got to my desk. No one noticed I was late.No unread emails. Not unheard of. Three new voicemails on my desk phone, all spam. Not unheard of either. This job seemed like a dream come true when I was hired. I called my mom crying with joy. The interview process was more like a sales pitch. “Look at our beautiful office! Picturesque views of the lake!” (a tepid pond surrounded by a sad park. Not like I’d get a window anyway.) “A dynamic work space with bean bag chairs!” (Another windowless room.) “A weekly free snack and coffee cart!” (Ok, even I don’t have anything negative to say about that. I live for snack cart days.) This is what I had been working towards. An adult job, with adult pay. It’s like getting everything I ever dreamed of but then I remember that when I sleep, I only really have nightmares.“Hey Mat, did you update the copy we sent you on the new product page?”“Oh, hey. Yeah, I’m working on that right now.”“Great, thanks.”She said “Great, thanks.” But what she meant was “You do so little around here and everyone notices. We’re all too afraid to tell you to your face, but you’re replaceable and at the first chance we have we will replace you. Be it by the pen or by the sword, we are all praying for your demise.”I tossed on some headphones and copied and pasted the new product description onto the product page and pressed publish.The bottom of my computer monitor read 9:26am. Having done my task for the day, I stared blankly at the screen. I thought about every decision I had made to get to this point. They all seemed like the right ones at the time. I vacillate between the dread of my life and the guilt of the images of injustices and genocides burned into my head every night on my phone. “What right do I have to feel miserable?” But that’s just another weapon in my arsenal of self inflicting armaments. But being self aware didn’t make me feel any better either.My phone rings. It’s my job to answer it so I do.“Hey, uhhh. Matt.”“That’s me.”“Yeah. Hey, could we see you in room C22?”“Be right there”Great. Now I’m probably fired. It’s one thing to be employed and miserable. I cycle through everything I did wrong since I’ve started here. There was a lot. I used to work hard. I used to take on every extra assignment. That just led to me getting burned. Working late nights didn’t lead to any recognition and most of the time some nameless higher up shut down the project weeks after approving it. It hurt more each time I tried until the wounds calloused over. Apathy became a coping mechanism. The hallway seemingly stretched on forever, but really it was only a couple steps. “Sit down wherever you like,” a man gestured. “I’m not being fired, am I?” I say with a bit of a chuckle. This was clearly the worst thing to say at that moment in time. I could see in the face of every single person in that room that they knew it. I hoped they could see that I knew it too. I started burning every detail into memory. This will be a good memory to replay on nights when I’m having trouble sleeping.“Your job is safe, Matthew.” One said with a sigh.“Just a joke. Sorry.”“You’re not too far off. Projected sales for Q4 are actually about 7% lower than what we expected. C-suite is looking to trim the fat to make up for the losses.”“Oh.” I paused, “and why are you telling me this?”“Well, remember, your job is safe. I mean we need a website.” Another man cut in obviously displeased with how much had been disclosed so far. “We were hoping you could shadow Nadene. Get all the socials’ passwords. Learn her posting schedule. That kind of thing. And, for obvious reasons, don’t tell her why. Nothing is final, we’re just… looking into options.”“Nadene works a hundred times harder for this company than me or any of you idiots. Half this company’s success was her being clever on social media before brands on social media was even a thing. 7% is meaningless. This company is meaningless. What are we even doing here? I don’t have long left in this world; I’m not going to waste any time on you” Is what I wanted to say. Instead, I replied: “Sounds good” and dismissed myself from the room.Back at my desk the ever-present ringing in my ears got louder. My head was a pressure cooker, and not one of those new ones with safety valves and shit. A certified kitchen destroyer. A bomb.“Jesus, Matt.” The pressure subsided and I was left staring at a Google search page: Do wild animals kill themselves?“What is that?”“Oh hey, Nadene.” I stumbled to close the browser. “Oh what? Nothing!” I chuckled awkwardly “Anyway, did you need something?”She masked the disgust on her face poorly.“Yeah, I just got called into a meeting. They said they want me to cross train you. They also wanted you to cross train me. I’ve always wanted to learn HTML.” She said sarcastically, “Maybe we can hop in a meeting room later today?"Whether wild animals can commit suicide is debated. It’s a question for philosophers as much as biologists. What we do know is that animals under high levels of stress begin making decisions that, through accident or intent, lead to their demise. Do they have the agency to understand the meaning of their actions? Are they opting out of life or is there a stream of seemingly meaningless decisions that seemed like the right ones at the time but turned out so bad that, once they realized it, they couldn’t clean up the mess they created? I am an animal in a forest. The ringing in my ears is lost in the ambient noise. The pines smell as though it were the first time I truly smelled anything. I walk with agency towards a goal I can’t fully grasp, but I know it is what I was made to do. The leaves under my feet are suddenly replaced by cold black asphalt. I understand I was not made to be here. I try to turn back to where I was meant to be when a large object begins barrelling towards me at incalculable speeds.My eyes adjust back to my monitor. A new email. Subject line: Fresh Product Copy
Where did things go so wrong?

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