A skeleton sitting at an office desk under a flickering fluorescent light. It hasn’t moved in decades. The mug says World’s Okayest Employee. The light flickers like a nervous breakdown in slow motion.

That One Flickering Fluorescent Light in the Office

There are many ways to lose your mind. Some are loud, some are tragic. And then there’s the fluorescent light - blinking just enough to make you doubt your sanity but not enough to justify standing on a chair to fix it.


The Annoyance

The light flickers. You look up. It stops. You look down. It starts again. A haunting rhythm that exists only to remind you that your nervous system still works.

Every office has this light. The one maintenance pretends not to see. The one that hums at a frequency only the disillusioned can hear. It’s the heartbeat of bureaucracy, but weaker.


The Absurd Diagnosis

You’re not tired. You’re being drained by a sentient tube of gas. It feeds on unresolved emails and microwaved leftovers. You think it’s faulty wiring. It’s not. It’s an energy vampire with tenure.

The flicker is a message: “Nothing is ever truly stable. Especially you.”


A Low-Key Cure

Don’t report it. That’s what it wants.

Bring a lamp. Bring two. Build your own sun.

If someone asks why your desk looks like a séance, tell them you’re manifesting competence.

Eventually, the light will stop flickering. Either it burns out or you do.


The Witty Insight

The universe runs on chaos. The office light is proof. You can meditate, hydrate, or sage the air—it’ll still blink at the edge of your sanity. The trick is to blink back slower.


Conclusion

That one flickering fluorescent light isn’t broken. It’s honest. It knows this place was never meant to be bright.


Sick of life’s tiny curses?

Talking to the Attending is the perfect remedy.

Summon the Attending
Dose yourself.