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My cube in the far corner does not help me, the noiselessness of computer humming and keyboard clicking in this room are still all that I can think of. These fluorescent lights are too bright, not bright but not dark, it is light in here and the lights seem dead, dying.

Josh has suggested that I hide under my desk, and I have thought it through seriously. No, I say, it won't work because it's too dark down there. I won't fit down there, either, I say. I need light, I say.

Under my desk there is an empty box there since we moved down from the 9th floor into this new sterile place that doesn't feel clean. It is all white walls and flourescent lights and the few plastic bits on my desk are really hurting me now. They are too bright and falsely cheerful.

The humming is driving me crazy and I have lots of work to do. Sweet merciful crap, the catbox is still down and if it were running I'd be making a bluddy nuisance of myself. There are clean white walls every which way, and Joe has said I could put a poster up on my wall. I wonder whether it is one of the perks to being the boss's friend or he tells this to all the girls.

Help help help.

It is lunchtime and I can leave for a bit to loosen my sluggish legs. I know today I will be the crazy one in the streets mumbling to myself and talking out loud. This is not new but sometimes I can keep my private voice down. Today I am talking aloud even as I sit here; take a drink, I tell myself. Where are those specs Jack gave me. What time is it I say. Sweet merciful crap, I want to go home.

Vicky in the next cubicle keeps glancing at me to see if she can hear what I am saying. I am smooth and suave and I reach for my water pretend to take a drink.

It is way past lunchtime now, and I cannot access any external sites at all. I have been outside twice today and sometime in between the two it has rained. There are puddles on the ground and there is almost less air out there then in here.

Sweet merciful jeebus, help.

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