C: 9/5/02

Work Diary, 9/5/02

I have been at work for the past two days feeling nauseous and watching
the pattern on the carpet beckon me with its spiral temptation.

Awful.

At one point I felt like falling down in the men's room, only to be
distracted by my co-worker, who wanted to know if I'm going to happy
hour tomorrow to say good-bye to some other co-workers. "Oh, yes," I
said, lying through my teeth, "I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

Why am I here? And, really, should I quit joking that I've been
sneaking around and breathing my be-germed breath on other people's
keyboards? People are starting to stare.

I take good care of my skin: anti-oxidant vitamins, sunscreen and
retinol each morning, trying to avoid letting my cigarette dangle from
my lip a la James Dean. Still, I look like leftover baggage these past
two days: dark circles, crusty sleep in the corners of my eyes, a
noticeably new frown line upon my brow. My face is avalanching even as
I write this, the freckles slipping and mixing with the sneeze droplets
under my fingers.

It's a dark, dark world when a boy yearns for his pillow and too-fat
beagle, only to be stuck at work, watching the clock and burping up
"Urps" and "Blechs."