The Office

No windows. No people. Flourescent lights. This is the office. My workplace. If I had a weaker constitution, I would surely flip-out under these conditions. I am, for lack of a better term, a weekday warrior. I get up early, even though my body tells me to sleep. I get up early, even though there is no boss here to keep track of when I come in. When the walls close in on me, I get out and walk around downtown. When my brain begins to wobble after staring at the computer screen for too long, I put my head on my desk and doze to the serenading buzz of flourescent lights. I daydream about having enough money to do other things. I prefer to walk up and down the six flights of stairs rather than stand in an elevator with strangers. I don't care to chit-chat or listen to the big-assed office ladies bitch about Judy in accounting, "who does she think she is? I turned in those forms three weeks ago."

I'm good at working. I actually have two jobs and work nearly everyday of the week. I'm not a whiner. Don't believe in it. It doesn't accomplish anything. And actually, I like what I do. It's better work than digging ditches. But it's still work.