Yellow

Your name is Rot.

You sit at your desk. It’s been four hours since you’ve arrived at work. When you have to, you answer emails. Otherwise you sit at your desk.

You sit at your desk.

You just sit.

Image by Sandy Millar

Yellow isn’t the only colour of rot. There are the greys and greens, the shades of damage, decay, mould.

You can’t do this work anymore. The work — you’re told that your work is fine. People are happy with your work. It’s good work. Only that’s not how they behave. Every moment convincing people that it needs to be done is a struggle; every moment is an argument for why something had been done.

Arguing that the work isn’t wrong. That it is fine, that it is good work.

You’re tired. And you don’t believe their words anymore, just their actions.

So you sit.

Rot isn’t only decay — fungal bloom is growth; eggs laid that hatch; the eruption of maggots. Things grow and change, become what they are not.

You are bad at your work. Avoiding the continual struggle and doublespeak means avoiding work. Avoiding work means you are worse at what you do.

You sit at your desk.

You are worse.

It’s important to stop caring — so that the bruising stops, so that the hurt is less. So that the rot can settle.

Rotting things can’t be used for what they were originally intended for.

The rotting apple no longer feeds. Mostly.