Your Unemployed Daughter

photo credit: Sailor Coruscant

It is a strange sensation to be completely alone on the 15th floor of a midtown office building. When I arrived circa 10:30, the lights in the kitchen were still off. The toilets had not been used since their last cleaning. And it’s cold, so cold I’m wearing my coat, even though the heat is ostensibly on. There’s not even a Bert to keep me company.

Oh my God, as I wrote that, a person turned the corner and looked at me! I have never seen him before, but since I’m freelancing and haven’t been here for a few weeks, nor have I ever met everyone on this floor, that means little.

Still, he could be a spy. Seems odd to be sharing these lonely quarters with him. Or, perhaps I’m relieved. After all, if there’s a gas leak on the floor he might be the one to tote me to safety. (Note: he was wearing a red sweater, and had sandy-blond molester hair. If I disappear, you know who to look for.)

Today, tomorrow, and Wednesday I am “freelance ME-ing” (which means, freelance managing editing, or, basically, sending emails telling people what they should do and when regularly throughout the day). Since the people who will receive these emails are mostly on vacation, my work is rather non-urgent.

There is, in fact, a relaxed sensation about the whole thing, sitting behind a desk, typing on a computer, sending off status missives. I feel almost like I’m role-playing in a very dull sort of play.

Not to say that I’m not diligent, of course. I plan to finish this post and write a few others, and respond quickly to any and all emails that come in. And maybe get a manicure and/or a turkey sandwich.

If only work was always like this. Except … maybe … yawn.