December 1, 2003

Wanting a window

I had a dream last night that my boss came into my cubicle she was frantic and distraught and said to me, "I... I just need some supplies!" I felt guilty, like when you've disappointed your mother. I thought to myself, "maybe I haven't done enough to organize the supplies." I felt bad because she's such a nice boss and asks for so little.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about working eight hours a day, forty hours a week. It seems really excessive to me. I spend a lot of time sitting in my little grey cubicle fantasizing about the day when I will have my own office with a window. It's not that I want more money or get a higher position, I'm happy where I am, especially considering I've just started. All I want is a window so that I'll have something new to stare at and an office so that no one will see me surfing the internet.

Last week this dream of a window started making me depressed. A widow. Who cares about windows? Have I already lost all my ideals? Am I just another dumb cog in the machine-- complacent and simple minded? Am I really going to sit in this chair for the rest of my life?

Sometimes at work I feel like I'm back in highschool. Like I'm that wierd girl who forgot to wash her hair and get the sleep out of her eyes. I stalk through the hallways slumped over and too bored and shy to talk to any of the other assistants. I always go to lunch alone.

But you know what? I like to eat alone. I told my friend's mom about wanting a window and she didn't think it was bad. Sometimes it's good to have simple wishes. And then I read Harriett the Spy.

It turns out Harrett the Spy is one of the greatest books ever and I never read it. I remeber picking it up when I was 10 or 11 and proptly putting it back down because the beginning is so goddamn boring. Whoever edited this classic piece of Y/A literature failed make the simpilest of revisions, chapter two clearly should have come before chapter one.

Well, it's probably all for the best because reading Harriett saved me this Sunday on my awful ride back to New York on the Chinatown bus. Harriett made me realize that it's good to be the weird girl at work, because everyone else is totally lame and spends all weekend playing bridge and manipulating their friends. I want to be just like Harriett. When her parents try to tell her that school is her job she just yells at them, No, she is a writer! Writing is her job! No one can keep her from her notebook and even in the end, when she learns empathy she doesn't stop bitching, and telling the truth, and writing it all down.

Posted by on December 1, 2003 9:24 PM

the same thing happened to me. with harriet the spy. i think we tried together. did we want to put on a play perhaps? now that the librarians took away my fine i will borrow the book. what a handsome idea. borrowing. love it.

Posted by: buckle FB 123 on December 1, 2003 10:08 PM

I loved this entry. I love your blog, in fact. And you know, I am not a blog enthusiast by any stretch of the imagination. I ONLY read Frank's blog. But Frank told me to read your blog, and I am glad I did. I think that I will continue to do so. And one of the reasons why is because I sit in a gray cublicle, too.

Posted by: Jessica Rabbit on December 2, 2003 3:31 PM
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