Monday, February 21, 2011

H.alf A. L.ife

I sit at a cubicle smaller than a jail cell. The walls are dreary grey fabric with pins holding printed memos of forgotten importance. Mixed in are de-motivational posters. People stand within a bodies length participating in discussions, exchanging information that will shape their futures. I sit with my head in my hands, eyes fixed on a screen full of opened but unused windows. The sound of fingers on keys and grumbles of down systems reverb over the cubicle walls to find passage into my ear canals. Still I sit.
A coworker breaths with exaggeration to let us all know he/she is hard at work with a million things to do as five o’clock speedily approaches. It doesn’t get here soon enough.
Conversations start and stop. Details are worked out and worked over.
I sit thinking of ways to escape.
In twenty minutes time I will take another bathroom break, spacing it perfectly every hour. The reasons to get out of my chair grow with the hours in the day. Print an email, get some water, talk to a co worker. All of these reasons get me out of my chair. The day lags.
Soon it will be over only to be repeated again. I’m looking for a way out.

No comments:

Post a Comment