I sit in a cubicle eight hours a day. Looking at the blue desktop background of my little out dated Dell computer. When I get tired of that view I lift my eyes to the grey wall of my cubicle. Sometimes I poke my pencil into the dull fabric that makes up the cubicle wall, pretending that I am trapped in a box and need some air to pass through those holes into my lungs. Sometimes I draw. Then get annoyed at the fact that my attempts at drawing a beautiful women fails misribly. I them take these pictures home and hang them above Courtneys bed and make fun of them with her. Some how this corrects the sorrow I feel for those drawings. That those sad people I draw will never be looked at as beautiful.
But in this small lonely cubicle I make plans. I dream big. Make decisions. Learn new things about life. It is a place for thinking.
This is the only time I have to really sit down and think. Plus I’m getting paid to do it.
I feel some sort of anger towards the people who pick up on the other side of the phone line. Those people that are too busy to answer a few quick questions. Those who are to private to share their beliefs. Those who are to brain washed to be realistic. Those who are too sad to be kind. Those who are to passionate to be humble. I talk to so many people who feel like I’m an intruder into their lives. Maybe I am. But I feel like they are intruding into my life with their snide comments and unfair judgments. I’m just an honest girl doing somewhat unhonest work so that I can someday live a life that I have been and now am working towards. Isn’t that what we are all doing?
That’s all for now. Carli