first: i feel your pain. the interminable length of time between each tick of the time clock on the lower right hand of your run down, slow as molasses computer
second: i also feel your denial: it is not forever. one day, we will stand up, throw off the chains (or long plastic black cords) which bind us and march out of the fluorescent abyss forever.
...
until then, i am sure you have had or will have an experience like this. the clock read somewhere between nine or ten p.m. the center was pretty much silent, only punctuated by the occasional "sir, please do not interrupt me" or the more occasional "what the #$S#!".
then the crash came. in the silence, it was loud. it was terrifying. it was exciting. but more importantly, it was something to look at. heads of various shapes and sizes and colors popped out of the cubicles like prairie dogs on the nebraska landscape.
"what was that?"
"is someone hurt?"
"do we get to go home?"
turns out the crash was just a large whiteboard that decided it was on its last leg (literally). my friend "k" and i looked at each other with a mixture of disappointment and dread. disappointment because it really was nothing to look at. dread because we had to then lower ourselves back into our cubicles, our dark and lonely holes of forced solitude.
happy tuesday. i love being employed.
