Paper clip futures

I try to read my future in the spill of elastic bands and paper clips across my desk. All it says is "you will keep working", which I already know.

So I settle for telling the fortunes of my paper clips:

"In your future, I see that you'll be holding together a bundle of papers for the accountant."

"I see you going to the bank with Monday's cheques."

"Don't worry, you'll be used again soon," as I return a shiny clip back to the box of its brethren.

It's Sunday, and I'm training the new girl. She's going to be great, as soon as we get in some practice. I didn't realize how complicated my job was until I started trying to teach it to someone else. I’m worn out from thinking about what I usually just do.

I restrain myself from telling her what colour of pen to use and to use semi-colons instead of dashes. There's enough for her to remember without my neurotic need to always use the same colour of highlighter for the same task.

I also don't tell her that the paper clips like it when you talk to them.