A stranger in a strange-ish land: a freelancers journey

What is this place, and why is it so cold here? I can’t see the sun…or is it raining, I can’t tell. There is no natural light here, just these cold lights…these cold florescent lights that just seem to magnify the coldness of the room.

My skin has turned an ashen gray color since I have been here, and I don’t mean ashy, I mean ashen…like possible onset of hypothermia. My eyes are sunken, my hands and mouth are dry. I am aging…right before my eyes I see it happening, like a reverse Benjamin Button. What is weird though is that even though I seem to be aging faster, I think time actually stands still here. I look at my watch and it’s 5pm…then I look at my watch 30 minutes later and it’s 5:05pm.

In my head I am screaming “Why god! why must it be so cold!” But my screams are only met with the sound of the air conditioning apparently being cranked up to 11. I have seen polar bears in the hallways seeking refuge from global warming.

Then there is the rage. Not normal rage, but like old man complaining about hippies and loud music rage. The “why is everyone so stupid and I am so smart” rage. Rage that starts at 6:15am, and ends about 9:30pm…after my wine. It feels familiar, but also alien at the same time like picking up an addiction you thought you kicked. That addiction would be being a miserable bitch that complains about everything addiction. That addiction that lets “not my problem” and “what’s her problem?” become their problem. The addiction to letting 9–6pm seep into 6–9pm…and 9:30 become bedtime.

Now, two weeks later, two days into autumn, after my time at camp whatchagottodoformoney is done, I look back on that time and I think to myself…that was the worst f@#king adult summer camp ever.