There's a draft in here that almost penetrates the thick carbon dioxide filled air. Excuse me while I open the window to increase the likelihood of success. Thanks. A screw fell out of my chair and it creaked after I relieved it of supporting me. A giant post-it pad sits on the floor that says "super sticky" in purple and yellow. I wait for internet screens to load. One of them tells me of the evils of sitting in front of monitors and I agree eagerly, pressing buttons to tell others of my discovery, hopeful that this will provide some distance, some breathing room. I wait for an office-mate to return with a brownie. I can taste it already, and feel gluttonous dichotomy that is my fat ass.
There are interns in here too. Lots of them. They work for free, for the sake of displaying some accreditation to the outer world maybe. For the candy, perhaps, or the mints, I'm not sure. Some of them look at me with searching eyes, as if I will explain the process, the end goal, the output. I don't want to startle them with some more urgent questions, though a few nods have passed, and a word was murmured back there, in the haze. It is hard to remember it all, iron out the tendrils. The press manager here left the other day. For good. And then a brand new press manager arrived this week and all of the built up intimacy with the old press manager has ceased to exist. When I enter the office and display similar behavior to comport with patterns long past it falls flat. Gossip sharply divides those who think they are smarter than the others, and those who think they have less to prove. Every few weeks, there are free bagels. Just now, I received an email from my boss telling me about newsletters to release, production schedules, strategic planning, for growth, for the sake of it.
I've filtered her mail into a special folder, and try to leave her attitude at work when I leave, too.
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