Demanding

I sit and stare at the computer screen.

I sit and stare some more. A few hours pass and it's time for lunch. Having feasted on an incredibly affordable take out meal courtesy of a noodle man in a van, I continue the arduous routine of the sit/stare task.

Nothing wavers me. Not the phones ringing at desks of industrious co-workers, not their rapid-fire discussions dismantling issues tantamount to bursting dykes and reducing them to small, quivering leaks. I am a turret atop my cubicled walls.

This is a fantasy. I am in fact more ready to slouch then slump, a hair's width away from falling into complete unconsciousness at experiencing the kind of boredom that stems from the fully concentrated, triple-distilled, pure essence of having Absolutely Nothing To Do. There isn't even a reason for me to pretend to look busy: my boss is away and I am tucked neatly into a corner cubicle. I could sleep under my desk, though I'm sure someone is bound to discover me once the smell of decay reaches them in a few weeks.

I fear I am losing my professional edge. Coming up with these words required the kind of mental acuity not demanded in my job of late. My vision is blurred, my head warm and heavy. My backside is numb from prolonged sitting. I need a good lie down so I can do it all again tomorrow.