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Temporary home…

Cubicles, laptops connected to monitors connected to power cords and outlets that ease in the next whatever years you have to sacrifice — for the sake of guaranteeing that you won’t coast through the universe in search of food and water.

The first day of welcomes, handshakes, and even bath gels that are bathed in the packaging of the season can’t be underestimated.

The smiles are venomously addictive. The questions of why you are and what you hope to be tend to be harder to navigate when you want to be honest to the point of scary, but decide to buy into the circle of ease around you.

These people in a little office “that could” are not dreamers. If they are, then they are even more miserable than I could ever be in my lifetime. I take my time to digest the background noise and save my energy for when I face Outlook — and click away as if it will change the course of time and perhaps reshape our national nightmare.

Okay, I’m reaching.

I didn’t get the agent of my enhancement until two days later but that was all it took to reveal the evidence I needed to comprehend why office spaces are eerily suffocating.

This circumstance is the best it could ever be and yet there is no way I can hang. The Mama Bear with her English accent that is probably a mix of Cockney — is seriously moody with swings that lift her voice higher than necessary.

She is middle-aged and older than me (Thank God!) and she prefers the direct approach — which her partner-in-crime and my designated hostess continues to receive with whispering retaliation to the other team members.

The dialog is beyond the spectrum of what I deem transferable.

They speak in codes strewn in a tempo that is way too high for me to reach. I am not that cynical trust me! How they hell does anyone get that excited about an erected sleigh with ribbons around it and roses streaming out of it like a bloody hemorrhage?

How do you round up the dormant electrons for the sake of humor clouded in the recognition that you must find something to keep the hours from devouring the cell of negligence that brought here — and will keep you there as long as you keep laughing?

The space between us is big enough to select consumption like the highlighted Holiday List For 2016 that was missing a slew of names — that I thankfully copied and pasted with steady enthusiasm because after the year ends — the faceless recipients of my labor will cease to be a concern of mine.

I did it for the money.

That sounds reassuringly dirty. In this case — the innocent becomes the guilty by chance. I was hired and grateful. I needed to be re-assimilated into the world of company gossip that always revolves around the black sheep and its followers. The IT guys are always shit except for the one who never fails. For some reason, he’s always the cutest one. The emails are always conceived with care and purpose and reek of accountability as the aid of cc’s, bcc’s, dramatic subject titles, and symbol for the level of importance starkly remind you of why your participation is vital.

The space between me and the others will always remain serious and playful, and the hugs and gift exchanges that validate this time of year also serve as byproducts of a culture — that can’t be reduced to company lunches and a pantry overflowing with notices about cleanliness and every notable item occupying the space it deserves.

I already know who will take my place.

The space between us will not be sufficiently divided but the politics of office will settle that feud with a platter of ahi tuna and a box of supplies that won’t ever deter the mission at hand.

And that’s really all we can ask for — right?

Written by

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say! https://medium.com/membership https://www.patreon.com/Ezziegirl

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