In Pushing Pencils, ELSA is in the most bored mental place possible and she feels trapped inside her own skin, let alone her life.
ELSA: (to herself) How did I get here? (pause.) (she looks around her work environment) My heart isn’t in it. I feel like a robot. Each day, same day. Nothing new, nothing exciting. (pause.) If I was a cat, I can lick my own ass. That may be more entertaining than this…Surely, there must be a way to break from the repetitiveness of my slavery.
Alarm goes off. Shower. Brush my teeth. Eat something light. Drink my coffee. Get dressed. Go to work. Come home. Have dinner. Watch TV. Go to sleep.
Sometimes it gets so quiet in my house. You could hear a pin drop. I think to myself, what is it all about? I feel like I’ve reached a point in my life where my job is killing my soul. The mundane work. It’s boring and dull. The people at work all smell…causing me to sneeze…constantly.
I have to discover something that will bring me back to full life, before I fade out and croak. Wow, I sound like such a depressed asshole right now…damn.
Perhaps if I made my own voodoo doll, one of myself, I can stab myself with a pin all day long in order to wake from this existence…somehow.
Okay, I need to go jump out a window. No, wait…I’ll leave my desk now, go outside and step in front of a moving city truck, make it look like an accident…no, I will buy a gun and blow my miserable brains out, just absolute and utter blood carnage all over the walls in my home. Hmmm, I’m going too far…
(hums a tune)
Laaaa, Laaaa, Laaaa, Laaa,
Laaadidah and Ladi Ladidah…
I wish someone would smack me across my stupid face. I do. I have such a smackable face. I wish I could smack my own face…right across my face. I good red shot. That would wake me up.
I would love that.