Tuesday, July 22, 2003

I sat in the dingy cubicle retrogressing every minute, it seemed, as file after file flew by, not a single one of them satiated, not a single one complete, but, for the moment, each one kept at bay, like hounds, like terrible Baskervillian hounds crying out for my blood, my sweat, and even a few of my tears.
Actually, working in a financial aid office is not that bad. From time to time, things are enjoyable. You show up, help people go home. You smile--whenever people come in; it's required by someone or something. No one's really sure what. Courtesy maybe?
I felt lonely this time around, like the whole world had drawn away and I was sitting on the last island on the Pacific rim watching the galaxy retreat from a distance.
Of course, this is all a psychological state; you're never really alone when it comes to your job. Try working for a week and not talking to anyone. If you're really alone, you can do it because no one else truly makes a difference in your work environment. But I'm guessing none of us can go that week without others. They're involved somewhere in the machine; just not always directly with you. That is, until you collide like bubbles in effervescent water, chaotically but necessarily since your movement is governed by greater forces. Then it's off on your way -- back home, a Dr's appointment, or simply lunch, or your cubicle. Meetings come and go, but really, what are meetings for if not to somewhat cancel out a few chaotic but necessary interchanges here and there?
Well, the long day is over. I'm off to bubble my way home before the tide brings me back in. Happy trails till then.

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