It’s a lonely feeling trying to find myself at my age, especially when everybody around me (co-workers, peers, family, my spouse, people on the internet, etc.) seems to have everything figured out- or at least that’s what they portray. My closest peeps are all making good money. They’re in the prime of their lives with a catalogue of memoires of their youth from which to draw. Meanwhile, I’m in school with kids young enough to be my kids, struggling to
finish start my final paper.
His eyes felt sore from unblinkingly staring at his keyboard.
He quickly closed his browser before looking over his shoulder to see who knocked on his office door.
His office was an office, but not really an office.
It had a door and four walls, but half of the fourth wall was a glass, and just as much as he started into the hallway, the hallway stared at him all the same.
He waved in his coworker.
“Morning,” He said.
“Morning, Mister Sir.” His coworker entered his office and handed him a thick binder which he cradled between a tall, barely manageable, stack of folder.
He wondered why anybody sent paper documents in that day and age. It was a waste of paper and a giant f*ck you to Mother Earth.
“Thanks.” He took the binder.
“Did you update the database?” His coworker asked.
“Waiting on the analyst to inbox me the request,” He replied.
“Okay, great,” HIs coworker said.
The analyst hadn’t send the inbox request to create the case as of a few hours back….
“Let me check.” He quickly signed into the database. “Ah, see… not yet.”
“Okay, fine,” His coworker nodded.
“Thanks for the reminder,” He said to his coworker.
“You’re welcome, no problem.” His worker left, but only closed his door halfway.
He sighed before standing up to shut his door.
His left knee cracked. It felt good.
It was the first time he stood in hours.
He returned to his seat and pulled closer to his keyboard before reopening his browser.
His term paper was due at midnight and he failed to write a single word.
He closed his browser.
He was less than twelve hours from a zero on his final exam and not even that forced him to write something. To write anything. She stopped believing seeing it as writers block a long time ago. Lack of intelligence, skill and discipline made more sense.
What was I thinking…
He left his computer, drew his hoodie from the coat rack and quickly left his office before anyone could see him leaving.
F*ck a degree. That ship sailed a long time ago.
He was too old for school anyway.
He just needed to stretch his legs and come to grips with certain things.