the building i work in smells like old cheese even though it is new and sterile and pristine. every morning i have a moment of clarity.it passes with the stoplights. i can tamp it down. i am not leaving yet. i am secure. the people are nice and the pay is good. i have an office with a window. i live inside a spreadsheet; insert row of days. the people i love the most sleep late because they are going to die sooner than i am.
the building i work in is near a busy main drag where chain and box stores and row afer row of auto repair and nail salons breed. when i complain about big box stores people around here say, "folks got to shop somewhere." i went to food lion to grab vanilla extract and saw a mother of two with a chick-fil-a sweatshirt on buying lunchables. the man with the hunting cap behind me bought five packs of cigarettes. the folks have to shop somewhere.
the building i work in is built on clear cut land. the north carolina woods are mean. summer brings ticks, poison ivy, thorns. winter trees are thin and straggly, mud perfumed with death. leaves fall and decay. spring is pollen. autumn lasts a week.
i can't tell if i am sad because i am not where i wanted to be. or because there is so much good and i can't see any of it.
