I now work in a fungi infested room with the tools scattered all over the floor, the lingering scent of mold, bearing grease and regret hits you as soon as you open the door. The other day I spilled half a bottle of rubbing alcohol on the floor and didn't bother to clean it up, I walked around in it bare foot and thought: this beats showering. I think I absorbed some through my footsies as I felt lightheaded for a few hours after.
The walls look like an abandoned torture chamber and they tell a story of a tormented individual who thought rusty, knackered bikes was a productive
hobby which would bring him joy and inspiration in life, but truth be told, it bears little resemblance to a hobby, it manifests much more strongly as a demonic possession. And no church is coming to save me. Because of my furry hands.
There's a rat that lives in the wall within these rooms, at night when I get particularly frustrated as I am too thick to cut cable housing to the correct length, I sense its gnawing being exacerbated by my increasing anger and, sometimes I wonder, if deep down, maybe I'm the rat in the wall.
Anyway, no pictures!
Happy Wednesday all, some of you have workspaces so tidy and nice that I would happily move in. Just..