Today a young fundamentalist folding papers next to me looked at me, smiling, and said "this is your life?" After a brief discussion about seizing the moment this came unexpected. I found myself defiant and defensive. "No, I'm just here for a bit. Passing through."

Right now I'm listening to Heartbeats.

The consulate called today. It was after a day that scooped the bottom of my patience and carved deep into my mind the feelings of having a meaningless grind for work.

Mystical tones and upbeat, whimsical lyrics grip me and haul me back to a not-so-long ago moment where it was different.

My boss is confident when I'm in the kitchen. He sat outside while I trayed and ran most of the food. I wiped down the plates diligently. Gray eyed. I served food and seized sides demanding "is this with the walleye? Are the seabass coming? Where's my side of fries?"

At the factory they've been mentioning my name for hire-in and saying "you're basically a part of the furniture now." It was one thing in my life to say "this is how you do it!" but now I realize what it feels like to live in it. You are commodified by everyone. How many years do you have? What are you capable of physically? What does your mentality allow you to endure? Alright, now put this in a box, run that food, and know your place.

People fight over scraps. A small conversation is permissible...barely. Temps are flowing in and out of the place to the displeasure of the frequently overweight female supervisors. Their jowls jiggle as they reprimand you for not going fast enough. You know that the real problem is that they make $9 per hour and have no hope. The kid, younger than you, across from you keeps hitting on a grandma just to pass the time.

Your fingers are black from folding an advertisement for 6 hours. Your feet hurt from standing. Thoughts and theories get duller as your sole stimulus is the dull drone of tow motors filing up and down large warehouse aisles.

Everyone is asking why you're here. They want to know your mistakes. The supervisor on the second floor is a middle aged black woman with short hair. She likes your tenacity but wonders if you're OK with being totally expendable to the company.

The professor is coming tomorrow to check on me at lunch.

I can't help but see this part of my life as already past. There are great moments with my sisters and the contrast is stark.

The Indian student gave me a little bit of entertainment as I taught her chemistry for a little while. She's too bright eyed and spoiled to be a companion though. No, you have to do your own work...I can't do it for you.

The call came today from the Spanish consulate. No message. I am nervous about it in a way. It's like I've gotten comfortable being a grunt without responsibility or hope. I will call tomorrow.