It happens about four times a year, which for some people is ridiculously less and for others it is more than they can ever imagine. I endure it just like the others do. More often than not, I see familiar faces and we silently nod in the long, white, windowless corridors, our eyes betraying our frustration.
In the long, white, windowless rooms time stands still as I wait my turn. Other have gone before me but try as I might I have failed. The art eludes me. I am not an expert like the Others. They can effortlessly transport you to a state of trance, where you are looking but not seeing, hearing but not listening, the eyes are open but you are not awake. Every fibre of their being can transport you, their voice, their walk, their actions. I have failed where numerous others have succeeded.
It is the constant explanations, justifications and questions that I hate. The false sense of security, the reassurance that things are under control when it is plain that they are not. The Others tell you how good it all is, when you know it is not.
However, the end of another day comes, bringing with it hope and sunshine. I leave the windowless rooms and corridors and walk out.
Yes people, I am free, until tomorrow… free from the optics conference.

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