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.