my desk is drinking

I’m a bit freaked out. Okay, that’s nothing new, really, since so many things set me off. Here’s the thing today. I attended a workshop off-site this morning and didn’t get to my desk until lunch time. All of my loose papers had been put into two piles. Very nice and neat, but WHY? And by whom? I had papers strewn across my desk the way I did for a reason. I’m working on about twenty things at once, and I need the stimulation of moving back and forth between projects. I have to dabble a bit in this one, a little bit in that one, and eventually things get finished and leave the desk for a drawer or a file folder or the trash. And it’s not the nighttime cleaning crew that did it because the part of my desk usually obscured by paper is just as covered with coffee cup rings as ever.

I’ve mentioned before that there’s a guy at work who likes to torture me. Mostly it’s simple stuff like sneaking up behind me when I’m concentrating and expelling the air from a whoopee cushion in my ear. Or tiptoeing up just inches from my head so when I turn to answer the phone his face is in mine. Or taping a sign to my back that says things like “No exit.” What does that mean? Is it existential? Is it referring to Sartre? Is it because I like cheese? Anyway, he tends to stick to the classics, but perhaps he’s branching out to desk rearrangement.

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