The contentment of resignation

So here I am again, sitting at my work, alone, with charming music blasting out throughout the store and strawberries in my tummy. This guy I work with has a band that I can never remember the name of who's cd I am currently playing, and I acutally rocks! Totally feel-good factor. The Victorian dress is now finished. When I say finished I mean that it is a bitch to get on, I have dropped the fancy backline, part of the innerfabrics shows on the front, and the arms are too thight. But I am resigned to accept the fact that it is finished because I'm running out of time.

I'm also resigned to sit alone at my work because the other girl had to go to a meeting, and never returned. I am resigned to not do a good job, but instead surf the internet, I am resign to not eat anything except an old salad because I cannot leave the store, and I am resigned to be drinking water instead of soda because I cannot buy anything from inside the store.

This feeling of resignation creates a comfort-zone where I do not care what happens and thus it helps me relax. I do nothing and I don't care. It is of course possible to argue that this is not a good attitude for a lowly worker to have, but it does keep me from working my ass of and getting to tired to sow when I come home, and it makes sure that I don't have to wash shelves even though I can see that they are filthy. I simply do not care. The way towards a happy life is at hand.