Life can’t be categorized in chapters; because, I’ve lost count. Not sure where exactly I am right

now if I were to think about things in chapters…or in any logical order. By age would be the only way, to a certain extent, but that’s about it. No categories or chapters (unless year long). Regardless, this is the goings on as things are.

There are mountains of books in front of me. On the floor there are books in boxes, stacked up in

twos, nearly touching the gray-topped desk, dust and dryness crusting over each. It has been a while since anyone has touched or attempted to file these. Judging by the burning in my eyes, probably a few months. My job today, take these books out of these boxes and figure out which years and volumes are in each, fill the information out in a spread sheet, and place the books back in the very same boxes a print out of the inventory on top. It’s repetitive and ultimately extremely annoying, but for some reason I enjoy it. There’s something far more cerebral about doing something, in a cubical, in an office than eating, sleeping and breathing in my house. The most fulfilling of which are the interactions that are going on around me. Each conversation and movings around may not necessarily involve me in anyway, but at least things are happening outside of the television or computer screen – even though, yes, I am staring at a computer. And there just so happens to be a plastic “window” cut into the gray-canvas cubical wall, and people wave as they walk by, smiling politely as I cough a bit from the dust and smile back.

This is, quite honestly, the most interesting part about the whole job, the overall jovial demeanor

of everyone who works here. They move past my window (I should interject and point out that most of the people working here are women. For some reason I thought that important to point out.) with a smile and move back past the same way. Perhaps they are just being polite to the “new guy,” but it doesn’t seem as such. Nice people, that’s who I work with. Nice people sometimes blinded by dust-covered, nuisances as fog covering the ground. Did I mention the boxes are annoying, burning my eyes, and giving me a headache? Oh yeah. Feels like funness.

There are far more pluses than negatives here. The water in the bathroom warms up rather

quickly, and no one is ever in there when I am. Giving me the freedom to inject myself without having to retreat to a stall, hoping my kit doesn’t fall onto the floor or in the toilet. Water temperature here should in no way be compared to that of the water at the American Massage Therapy Association (AMTA), where I had worked with my father twice in the past. The AMTA’s water can be easily described as ‘glacial’. Not in that it is pure in anyway, but it’s temperature was that of a glacier. Actually, the water was none too pure at all. I suppose it should be described as ‘taken from the depths of space.’ Yeah, that works. The water was freezing and contained dust particles and mysterious flakes that beg for the flavoring of tea and coffee to drown out it’s before, during, and aftertaste. …that was the most important thing on my mind as I went to get a drink of water and wash the dust and nast off my hands.

I suppose I’m done writing for the day. It seems unimaginable that I haven’t written for almost a

month, but when I look at the last post I remember why. Still getting over that though. For some reason I just can’t shake it. Also, this keyboard is driving my crazy with its ‘turbo’ key and easy slip pressing, and I need to get back to filling and coughing.