Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down

I have these momements, at the bank, when I look around and say, "How did I get here?" Like the Talking Heads' song. Except I don't say, "This is not my beautiful wife." But it feels very surreal. The same thing used to happen to me at Starbucks, when I would think I was playing store, like when you are a little kid.

But more, at the bank, I walk past the water cooler, or stare at the commerce of the town I am working in, and I think, how did I get here? How did I come to be working in a place with a water cooler?

And when I sit at my desk and try to think what my job would want me to be doing, it is surreal that this is the thing I do to make money show up in my bank account every two weeks. I sure do work, but then there are times that are slow, and I just stare off into space because it makes me feel a lot less guilty than if I were to surf the internet.

And with each disdainful look she gives me, I know my days are numbered. She has no reason to fire me, but I am getting few reasons to stay.